


Five Flames

by mariacomet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-02 15:44:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 65,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15799602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariacomet/pseuds/mariacomet
Summary: In the past, Emma Nolan disconnected from her peers in high school, preferring to keep to herself. In her sophomore year of high school, she decided to try and join the boy’s wrestling team because she was bored. She didn’t expect herself to become the champion of the most bullied kid in school or the secret best friend of the school queen. She also didn’t expect to join a club that would change her life.In the present, Emma is trying to cope with a humiliating loss in her martial arts career. She claims to be “training” but is stuck in limbo between wanting to retire and try again. She is isolated from her former best friend, Regina Mills, a local celebrity chef and the rest of her old friends. When one of them calls her with an idea to honor their deceased teacher, she is confronted with unresolved feelings and questions about how powerful love truly is.





	1. Wrestling and Refusals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This flight to Swanqueenland will include the usual turbulence, though it starts a little bit earlier than usual. Also banter, always banter. My promise as your captain on this plane remains to get you safely home. There's a bin of plush toys for snuggling available under your seat.
> 
> Most writing is deeply personal to the author in some way. This story, however, dips into some of my own pain and hope. I discovered things while writing this. Good things. It is my fondest desire that you do too. There's lots of romance, of course, and there's characters confronting their flaws and challenging one another.
> 
> Also, did I mention the banter?
> 
> Important Notes:  
> David Nolan is deceased in this world and there's one more major character death, however, it is not anyone in the Five Flames. Who are the Five Flames? Well, they could be a rabid team of LGBTQ+ tv/movie reviewers. They totally aren't, but they could be. If I told you, what fun would that be? I can say that, though, Emma and Regina are in the Five Flames.
> 
> Kudos and comments are more encouraging than you realize. I think it was Jane Austen that said, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single writer, in possession of a good muse, must be in want of kudos.”
> 
> Lastly, my plug for you all to come visit me on the "the twitter". I'm Mariacomet there too. Come say hi.
> 
> GIANT "Thank Yous" to:  
> Hope - the best cheerleader in the whole world who listened to my mini-freakouts on this story with patience and encouragement. 
> 
> Wifey - For everything. All the discussions, hugs, moments when you showed me the grace usually exhibited only by those who have a halo and more. I love you. Every day.
> 
> Sheona - Who had a ton of stuff happen all at once in real life and checked in with, offering her betaing and perspective and overall sanity checks.
> 
> AnotherShipper - Whose amazing art captured the heart of this story perfectly.

AnotherShipper's gift of art for this story here:  <https://archiveofourown.org/works/15840144>

 

 **Apple Valley, Ma**  
**The Past**  
  
**October 2007**

 

“Coach Michaels pulled me aside at school today,” her mother said, basting raw chicken in brisk, agitated movements. Her mom, Mary Margaret Nolan, taught history at Abigail Adams High School. “He told me you keep showing up to wrestling practice demanding a try-out.”

 

“I didn’t demand.”

 

Emma Nolan spent the entire summer before her sophomore year of high school deciding if she should join the boy’s wrestling team or the boy’s football team. She decided on wrestling, though she didn’t think about it again until early October, two weeks before tryouts for the team.

 

No matter how she looked at it, her reasons for wanting to join remained the same. So far, this year at Abigail Adams was nearly identical to her freshman year: it faded, unmarked by anything significant. She drifted through the drove of students, headphones on and music blaring, except during class. She ate lunch a few chairs away from everyone else in the cafeteria or in the back stairwell of the library, reading whatever struck her fancy. She took taekwondo after school on Mondays and Wednesdays. She jogged a couple of miles every morning. Despite enjoying the predictability, she found herself growing restless.

 

So, in mid-October, a couple of weeks before Homecoming, Emma Nolan attempted to try out for the boy’s wrestling team. The coach laughed it off and refused to let her. Emma showed up the next day too. He told her “no” again. It only increased her stubbornness.

 

“I thought we talked about sports,” Mary Margaret said.

 

Like most teenagers Emma adhered to the letter of the law and not the heart of it. “You didn’t tell me I couldn’t try out.”

 

She turned to her daughter in exasperation. “I said that I wanted better for you than to be a mindless jock. Sports take a tremendous amount of time and energy. Not to mention that these high school coaches don’t care about anything but winning. Kids get hurt all the —”

 

“Mom, do you need help with dinner?” Emma said it lightly so as not to truly interrupt. She was used to them relying on one another to keep the house in order. Emma’s father had been killed in action in Iraq three years ago, so it was just the two of them.

 

“It’s fine.” Mary Margaret dipped her brush in barbeque sauce, wiping the excess carefully on the side of the glass bowl. “I know you need a positive outlet for your energy, that’s why I pay for taekwondo. They have competitions, isn’t that enough?”

 

Emma held herself still and stiff. Her mother didn’t get her. It was useless to fight about it. Mary Margaret believed in mental acumen and the power of being well-spoken. Emma wanted to move. Not talk. Not change the world.

 

 “You’re smart,” her mother said. “I asked the coach how many hours a week you’d need to invest. Practices alone are two hours each day, six days a week. Aren’t there other things you could do, more worthwhile things, with that time and energy?”

 

“It is worthwhile, and not all jocks are brain dead, Mom.”

 

She set the brush to one side. “Okay, so make a case. Help me understand what this means to you.”

 

Emma shrugged, a rebellion. Her mother loathed silence. She had been a history teacher at seven or eight schools throughout Emma’s life. Her friendliness and ability to communicate always won her the adoration of peers and pupils. Emma didn’t have the same talent for talking that her mom did. She was more like her father: quiet and good natured instead of fiery.

 

Mary Margaret’s lips pressed in a weary line as the quiet stretched on. “Well, I told the Coach that there’s a world of difference between you not being good enough and not letting you try. And that I am fairly sure that we could find a lawyer to press that point if needed.”

 

Emma’s body relaxed. It wasn’t surprising that her mom, despite disapproving, stood up for her. Her mother’s sense of right and wrong never faltered and fairness was a hot button with her.

 

“Thanks, Mom,” she said quietly.

 

“One of the local theatres is doing a production of Twelfth Night. We could go.”

 

“It’s not my thing.”

 

It used to be, they both knew it. The summer before her freshman year, Emma began to refuse these kind of invitations from her mother. Going to art galleries, poetry readings and plays felt loaded now, part of a pressure Emma felt to be someone else, someone her mother would like and approve of.

 

 

Mary Margaret’s hopeful gaze dimmed, but she recovered and started on dinner again. “Dinner will be ready in forty minutes or so.”

 

Emma trudged upstairs to her room, guilt clutching at her insides. She wanted to slam the door behind her so hard it shook every inch of their small two-bedroom house. She didn’t, closing it with little more than a click. Other kids didn’t have to battle like this to play sports. She didn’t think she should have to explain. It should be enough that Emma wanted to, shouldn’t it?

 

If she joined the wrestling team, if she could somehow get a fair chance at it, her mother would subject her to a lecture every few weeks. If she was injured, as she had been in martial arts once, it would mean a fight for Emma to keep going.

 

But when Emma pushed her body to perform, the world made sense. The more physical the activity, the better. She didn’t have a better explanation and she doubted that one would satisfy her mom.

 

There were other questions her mother asked that she had no answers for: why Emma didn’t care about the news and what was going on in the world; why her grades were barely Cs, and why she didn’t make more of an effort to be social and make friends.

 

She liked to keep her world simple. Trying to get on the wrestling team would make waves in her tranquil life, but she believed it would settle into her routine in time. Taekwondo had.

 

The next day, the coach waited till the end of practice then, with a mocking smile, invited her to wrestle the smallest guy on the team.

 

When she pinned him, the match should have ended, instead the coach let it go on for a few more seconds. The boy kept fighting, panting. Emma strained, muscles burning to keep him there, to make sure there was no doubt about her win.

 

“Okay, enough.”

 

Her opponent froze, waiting for the coach to say more.

 

She jerked away from him and got to her feet. The entire team and the coach stared at her with a mix of surprise and anger. The coach paced back and forth, steaming, hands on his hips.

 

Her triumph soured the longer she stood there in the silence, their hatred pushing at her.

 

It didn’t feel like she’d won.

 

Instead, it reminded her of the awkward interruption that happened when someone opened the door to the wrong room. The people inside, who belonged, staring, waiting for them to leave.

She decided not to belabor the moment. “See you tomorrow, coach,” she called, and walked toward the girl’s locker room, shoulders back and chin up.

 

By the next day, the story of Emma trying to join the wrestling team got around school. She tried her best to ignore the eyes on her and the jeers of guys wearing letterman jackets in the hall. Her iPod and headphones dutifully let her escape most of it.

 

She began to suspect that she’d greatly and naively underestimated how much of a challenge she was taking on.

 

The day after, as she neared the cafeteria, a hard shove between her shoulders made her scramble to keep her balance. Members of the wrestling team and the football team crowded around her. Surprise beaned her like an errantly-thrown baseball.

One of them flicked her headphones off her head, and they clattered to the ground, the wire still attached to the iPod at her hip. She bent to pick them up, but the circle of jocks closed in, stopping her.

 

“You don't belong on any of our teams. We don't want you there.” A tall guy with hair so short it could barely be called hair poked her with two fingers.

 

She checked the hall for adults...none. Her pulse pounded behind her ears. Danger, her body screamed at her. They didn’t know, couldn’t know about her background in taekwondo. She could use it to surprise them and get away.

 

She just needed to stay as calm as she could. She willed her muscles to loosen.

 

“What do you think is going to happen? You think someone's going to let you wrestle in a match? You think we're going to let some girl make us lose just so she can claim equal rights bullshit?” His fingers closed around her arm, yanking her closer. “You need to quit. Today. Understand?"

 

She saw the move in her head — step to the side to gain some ground, pivot her hip, then bury her heel in his solar plexus. She knew there were better techniques she’d learned over three years of study, but she couldn’t think of any of them. Kick, then run and hope they couldn’t catch her. The administrative offices were at the end of the long, dingy hallway she stood in. She might be able to make it.

 

She started with her feet together, moved one, stepped together again, started to raise her leg...

 

Fuck, this wasn’t going to work, they were going to catch her within a few steps.

 

“Excuse me,” called a cool voice. A brunette, dwarfed by the jocks, snapped her fingers at the largest one, eyes brimming with disdain.

 

With about fifteen hundred students, the school was big enough that plenty of kids were lost in the crowd, except within their own cliques. But everyone knew Regina Mills. Her friends were the popular kids, and within them she occupied the upper echelon: a junior, editor of the school newspaper, president of the student council and the debate club and member of the National Honor Society. She came from a well-to-do family, polished in what she wore and regal in how she carried herself.

 

Regina’s air of superiority trapped No Hair in place. “Is there some reason you are stopping me from getting lunch?”

 

Despite towering above Regina, he shrank back. “We were just trying show this —”

 

She talked over him. “It was hypothetical, Charles. You’re in the way. Move.” She turned her eyes to Emma. “You’re Emma Nolan, correct? Mrs. Nolan’s daughter?”

 

“Right.”

 

Since Regina was a junior and Emma a sophomore, they didn’t share any classes and never would. Emma had seen her around, but had never given her a second thought. Until now. Their eyes met and it slammed into her gut like a punch.

 

Self-preservation pushed her past it. She didn’t know yet if Regina’s presence would make things worse or better. 

 

Regina flicked her eyes back to No Hair. “You do know she is a teacher’s kid? Harassing her is an impressively fast way to get yourself either suspended or kicked off the football team. You don’t mess with the staff’s kids.” She bent, picking up Emma’s headphones and giving them to her, then she laid a light, stroking hand on No Hair’s chest. “Why don’t you escort me to lunch?”

 

He grinned down, drunk on her attention, and opened the door for her with a flourish.

 

“See you around, Nolan,” Regina said to Emma. Her brow flicked upward, stressing that she’d just done Emma a favor and she might ask to be repaid at some point.

 

As the jocks dispersed and followed No Hair and Regina, one of them shoulder-checked her.

 

She didn’t care. Relief warmed her and she freed a long breath. She shook off the encounter as best she could. She kept her headphones on, but with the music very low, for the rest of the day, just to make sure the danger had really passed. No one did more than glare at her.

 

She asked herself how much she liked wrestling - enough to outweigh the resentment she had to deal with? She tried to figure out when the scales would tip, when the abuse would be so heavy she could feel justified in giving up.  As usual, the process of making a decision about something serious plodded along in her head.

 

The rest of the week passed without incident.

 

On that Friday, her mother, who always ascended to become the most popular teacher in any school she taught at, started a club called “Arts into Action.” Emma didn’t intend to join; she’d never become a member of one of her mother’s clubs before.

 

However, Emma sort of checked on the sign-in sheet, just to see if people were going to come and how many. There were a couple of names and they seemed like real ones. It satisfied her need to look out for her mom. She started toward her next class.

 

She spotted Regina, a large neathandral jock at her side, sauntering her way.

 

It wasn’t that they parted like the red sea when Regina moved through the halls, it was more that they clamored for her attention; ten people or so specifically waiting for her blessing. She smiled (it didn’t diminish the cold in her eyes) and granted each of them a few moments.

 

Emma heard some of the questions they asked her: Was she coming to X party or Z get together, what about practicing for the next debate, or going to the mall or whatever. Almost everyone either greeted her with fawning adoration, even if jealousy hid behind it, or avoided looking directly at her.

 

Emma, bemused, did neither of those things and therefore, gained the attention of the queen herself. For just a beat of time, Regina’s eyes pressed against her own. Zelena, Regina’s sister, trailed behind her and Regina glanced over her shoulder once to check her progress.

 

“Hey Regina, the principal still owes us an interview for the paper,” an underclassman called as she passed.

 

“I’ll take to him later,” Regina said, not stopping.

 

At Regina’s side, a cheerleader reclaimed her attention. “The vote is tomorrow. People could still write you in as Homecoming Queen.”

 

“This is the second time you’ve pointed that out.” Regina gave a long-suffering sigh as if she were asked this kind of question all the time and tired of repeating herself. “If I wished to, I could have run. However, I have no desire to spend my time campaigning for what are, at best, temporary accolades.” She shrugged. “I’ll mention to Cindy that I am voting for you. It should travel through the grapevine by the end of the day. Is that acceptable?”

 

Emma couldn’t remember ever hearing someone talk that way before, not someone their age, anyway. She sounded not only like an adult, but like the boss of some huge company.

 

Regina glanced at the bulletin board, then paused before wandering closer to it. “I’ll see you in the class,” she told the lug with her who kissed her cheek. Regina’s forced smile dropped into oblivion the moment he moved away.

 

Emma tracked what had caught her attention.

 

Her mother’s signup sheet announced the name of the club, “Arts into Action,” then under it “Defy Limitations”. After a moment of thought, Regina signed with a flourish and released the pen held to the bulletin board by a pin and a string.

 

 “Are you going to sign up or are you staring for a reason?” Regina said, twisting around to face Emma.

 

Emma still kept her music low these days but she didn’t want to appear rude so she slid her headphones to her neck.“That’s my mom’s club. I was just checking on things.”

 

Regina scrutinized the board. “I don’t see your name on the sheet.”

 

“Right.”

 

“You’re not going to support your mother’s group?”

 

When put that way, guilt hammered a nail into Emma’s gut. “It’s not my thing.”

 

“But joining the boy’s wrestling team is?” Regina asked, her expression cool. They stood there, regarding each other. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish?” She eyed Emma with distaste. “Are you some kind of crusader or...?”

 

“I just like wrestling.”

 

Regina’s eyes narrowed, her neutral expression remaining as she inspected Emma more closely. “And you haven’t considered that your liking it and wanting to be on the boy’s team is odd?”

 

Emma ducked her head and glanced at the nearby orange lockers. “Okay, well...so?”

 

Regina took another step towards her, like she wanted to force her to back up. That move, bringing their conversation into a more physical realm made Emma square her shoulders. It invigorated her, instinctively making her want to engage and to counter.

 

 “What do you mean ‘so’?”

 

“If I want to do it then I should, right? I mean aren’t you joining Arts into Action ‘cause you like art?”

 

The shield of iron in front of Regina never seemed to let up. “I have decided to evaluate the club because it might help me achieve my goals.”

 

“Besides just being in a club?”

 

“Some of us aspire to greater things. Diverse activities look good on a college application, and I intend to apply to some of the best in the world.” She explained it to her as if speaking to a young child.

 

It again sounded so businesslike and grownup that Emma couldn’t help but chuckle. “Okay.”

 

Regina’s eyes flashed with anger. “If you wish to make a spectacle of yourself at this school, that’s your business. Likewise, you may be content going to whatever decrepit community college or trade school will take you, but I intend to have a vast array of choices.”

 

“Right now, I just want to finish high school. Just take things a day at a time. Besides, I’m only a sophomore. I don’t think I need an array yet.“

 

Regina’s jaw tightened. “Do enjoy your mediocrity.” She turned on her heel to go — she literally wore one-inch designer high heels.

 

“Hey,” Emma called, voice gentle. “I wasn’t laughing at you. Having all that shit together is kinda amazing. I admire it, even if I don’t entirely get it. For the record.”

 

Surprise flooded Regina’s features at the soft words, and the intensity in her eyes loosened.

 

A hint of smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “I am well aware of my strengths, including having ‘my shit together’. And despite thinking your pursuit of wrestling is strange, foolhardy and doomed to failure, I — I think it would be interesting to see you succeed. For the record.” She pointed to Emma’s neck. “What are you always listening to on those things?”

 

“A little of everything. Today it’s Otis Redding.”

 

“I have no idea who that is.”

 

“He’s an older artist from the 60’s. He sang raw, powerful R&B ballads. People called him the King of Soul. He did the song, “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay.”

 

“You sound like an encyclopedia entry.”

 

“That was from an oldies music message board, actually.”

 

“I continue to find your interests odd.”

 

“But not boring.”

 

Regina conceded the point, curiosity and interest simmering on her face. “I suppose not.”

 

“So what type of music do you listen to?”

 

“Classical and popular music. I enjoy excellence and prefer to be aware of current trends.”

 

“Part of your plan to conquer high school?”

 

“Are you asking if I am purposefully honing my interests to support my desire for success? ”

 

They spoke in a rapid back and forth rhythm; an impromptu two-person jam session. They traded the lead back and forth, dueling for the enjoyment of it, with nothing really at stake.

 

The conversation ended as someone called Regina’s name. She put her liveliness into a case, clicked it shut and replaced it with haughtiness. Regina didn’t bother to further comment or say goodbye, she just crisply marched past Emma when she chose to.

 

The small, secretive amusement in Regina’s gaze and the tempo of their banter sauntered into Emma’s thoughts the rest of the day. Her concentration suffered in multiple classes.

 

Emma couldn’t help herself. She didn’t do the usual hours of processing before taking on even a semi-commitment. Instead, on the appropriate day, right after school, she showed up in her mother’s classroom. She settled into a desk at the very back of the room and ignored the curiosity flooding her mother’s expression. Emma rested her head in her hand, trying to appear as bored as possible. No need to seem too interested in anything or anyone in particular.

 

Archie Hopper came in, smoothing down his curly red hair. His trousers were so long he kept stepping on the cuffs with his well-worn brown loafers. Emma knew him, much as she knew Regina, by reputation. The popular kids used him to work out their aggressions and cruelty. He sat on the lowest rung in the high school clique system, targeted by everyone, claimed by no one.

 

Regina and her sister Zelena filed in, Regina pausing by the front of the room. Upon seeing Emma, she regarded her inquisitively before turning her attention back to Mrs. Nolan. “Will we be doing community service in this group, Mrs. Nolan?” Her voice was smooth and respectful.

 

“Well, we’ll talk about that.”

 

Regina’s brow creased at the enigmatic answer. “Isn’t that a yes or no question?”

 

Emma’s mother eyed her. “I get the feeling you’re going to be a great addition to this club,” she said, but her voice ordered Regina to sit down and be patient. “I promise you’ll get your answer. I just prefer to make my ‘this is what this club is about’ speech once.”

 

Regina’s mouth twisted, agitated, but she didn’t ask anything else, taking a seat instead. She linked her fingers before her, back ramrod straight. Today she wore a blue blazer over a floral print blue and white tank-top. From her ears dangled long earrings that matched. On her lapel, a gold crown pin with a single topaz gem at its base.

 

Emma considered her own red henley and hoodie. She and Regina were on different planets.

 

Eventually, one more person, who Emma had seen around but didn’t know, joined them.

 

Her mother sat at the edge of her desk. “The idea of sanctuary was first conceived by the Greeks. They believed that people needed somewhere they could communicate with the gods, a place between earth and the divine.” She motioned to the door. “Out there, all of you are assailed by pressure to fit in, to live up to your parents’ expectations, to figure out who you are. In this club, there are only three rules” — she counted them off, raising a finger after each — “Honesty. Respect. Confidentiality.” She slid the signup sheet on her desk closer to her and looked down at it. “We seem to all be here. Let’s break the ice with a question, and you all can introduce yourselves as you answer.”

 

She paused and met the eyes of each student. “Does true love exist?”

 

Regina, programmed to raise her hand, did so. “Regina Mills.” She said it as if it were a title. “The term ‘true love’ is only used in fairy tales, television and movies. Regular people don’t use it.” She lifted her hand again. “When will we be going over what kind of activities we will be doing? I’m not seeing the relevance of your question.”

 

“Must you try and control everything?” Zelena grumbled under her breath.

 

“Give me another few minutes, Regina.” Mary Margaret said. “So it’s simply not a reality? It’s something people made up?”

 

“Jefferson Hatter. It’s like dinosaurs. Existed once but extinct now.”

 

He flicked his bowler higher on his head. It covered the top of his spiky black hair but not the back. He wore a black t-shirt and leather jacket, two belts and tartan patterned pants. He carried a sketchbook but nothing else.

 

“People are greedy and kind of suck. I think Aristotle said that.” He stretched his legs out onto a second desk. Mary Margaret gave him a death stare and he straightened. “Fifty percent divorce rate. That’s real. And I’m pretty sure cheating is the number one reason.”

 

Archie raised his hand, too. “I’m Archie Hopper. Should I take notes or...?”

 

“That won’t be needed,” Mary Margaret said.

 

Zelena Mills slapped her hands on her desk. “The problem is that men are ass — sorry, a-holes.”

 

“Cussing in this environment is allowed,” Mary Margaret said.

 

“Assholes then,” Zelena said cheerfully, relishing the word, “who don’t care about true love half as much as they care about how they can get girls to spread their legs.”

 

All of their eyes snapped to Mary Margaret expecting a correction or a reprimand. None came.

 

“But that’s not all men. I don’t think all of us are a-holes.” Archie said, a nervous smile playing against his mouth, inviting a conversation or even a connection.

 

“And I don’t care what you think,” Zelena said. Like Regina, she ran with the popular kids, but not on the highest levels, just the fringes. There were lots of rumours about her drunken behavior at parties. After every large gathering came a new tale of Zelena destroying something, sleeping with someone, or getting in some kind of altercation.

 

Mary Margaret advanced till she stood directly in front of Zelena’s desk. “Apologize.”

 

Zelena balked. “To him?”

 

“Three rules. Honesty. Respect. Confidentiality,” she reminded them. “Now, please apologize.” Their gazes clashed in a brief battle of wills before Zelena sighed.

 

“Fine.” She gave the barest of glances in Archie’s direction. “Sorry.”

 

Mary Margaret’s features relaxed again. She returned to her leaning position. “Now that that’s behind us, you were making an interesting point about gender. Please, continue.”

 

Zelena faltered, as if the last few minutes and the aftermath were a math problem she didn’t have the answer to. “The idea of ‘waiting for love’ places plenty of expectations on women, but very few on men. Besides, true love is tied to ideas of princes rescuing maidens, which is a victim role. Some of us don’t need rescuing.”

 

The corners of Regina’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t face her sister. “And some of us need constant rescuing. You didn’t introduce yourself, Zelena.”

 

“Please, they already know who I am. If I can finish my point? I know two types of girls. The ones who are too smart to keep turning to old, weak ideas. And the ones who chase after them and wind up barefoot and pregnant, sometimes right after high school or college, without bothering to explore anything else in life.”

 

Archie half-raised his hand then, as if debating the right thing to do, let it drop awkwardly. “My parents seem to be happy, and they get along. I don’t think it’s a magical force and I don’t think I’d call it true love.”  His volume jerked up and down, into a mumble then out. “I mean, they work hard at communicating. They were married when they were a little older so maybe they understood what was involved in a relationship. Maybe love doesn’t have to be this large, amazing thing. Maybe it can be kind of quiet. I’m not sure they need one another, but they like each other.”

 

Mary Margaret nodded at him, then pushed off her desk. “So, in all cases, you’re following the pack. Society has defined your views on love. Either because of what you have seen directly or what you have been told.”

 

It got their attention. No self-respecting high schooler liked to think of themselves as sheep, whether it was true or not.

 

Emma watched her, heartwarming. This was the teacher everyone eventually grew to love, burning with her desire to reveal new thoughts and unchain everyone around her from mediocrity. Her mom. Emma sometimes wondered, since she shared her mom with everyone, if jealousy bulked up the muscles and mass of the strife between them.

 

“We let the majority define almost every aspect of our lives. From letting others decide what is safe, normal or logical to believing that if it’s true for most people, it is true for everyone. E.E. Cummings thought about love this way; ‘yours is the light by which my spirit’s born: /yours is the darkness of my soul’s return / -you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.’ ”

 

Mary Margaret’s face glowed; the pleasure of rediscovering and sharing a poem she loved. “He argues that for him, love is all-encompassing and infinite and it touches every part of him.

 

“Art — paintings, music, poetry, books, movies — challenges psychological and emotional boundaries. If you let it, it will expand the universe and all its possibilities. It will dare you. That’s what this club, ‘Arts into Action,’ is about.”

 

Mary Margaret walked down the aisle, making sure to meet the eyes of each of them, even her daughter. “When someone, even you, tries to say what can’t be done because the majority doesn’t think that way or hasn’t done it, you need tools to find your truth. What you believe. You have to be comfortable challenging conventional thought and yourselves. You need to be willing to defy limitations.”

 

“Does true love exist?” Mary Margaret asked. “That’s up to you.” She smiled at them, warm and generous. “Amen and Hallelujah.”

 

Emma expected Regina to march out, declaring the club unworthy of her time, but she seemed transfixed, like the rest of them.

 

Mary Margaret explained the kinds of art that would be permissible — any kind, really — then asked the students how they wanted to proceed.

 

“Maybe we could all bring something in next time,” Archie said, voice barely audible.

 

“Does anyone disagree?” Mary Margaret asked.

 

No one said a word, though a few looks were exchanged. High school herded everyone everywhere using a bell and hall monitors. In some of her classes, Emma even had assigned seats. Total structure overload, most of the time. Emma figured that none of them could sort out the rules in this loosely organized environment.

 

Mary Margaret closed the meeting by saying, “I shared my vision with you. But part of my vision is that this group will be yours. I will guide and coach you, but you own what this becomes. This is your space and time; it will be shaped by each and every one of you. Use that power wisely.”

 

Afterwards, just out in the hall, Emma heard Zelena ask her sister, “Are we actually going back to that club?”

 

“It’s different,” Regina said slowly. “Worth another meeting. Besides, Mother and I agreed that more diversity was important for my college aspirations. You don’t have to come with me.”

 

“Oh but Mother likes us to be in the same clubs whenever possible, doesn’t she?”

 

Regina ignored her sister and glanced over her shoulder at Emma. “You. Are you always so quiet?”

 

Emma, startled, paused her iPod and jerked her head up. In her entire life no one had ever called her out on her lack of participation. “I didn’t have much to add.”

 

“Well, not all of our minds operate at the same capacity, I suppose.”

 

The barb should have pissed her off, but instead a bubble of amusement grew inside Emma. “I learn a lot by listening. Also, it takes less energy.”

 

“I thought art wasn’t your thing.”

 

Emma placed her headphones over her ears and grinned. “I hear diverse activities look good on high school transcripts. You listen to any Soul yet?”

 

“I didn’t actually agree that I would. Besides, I’ve been far too busy.”

 

“Right. I still think you’re missing out.”

 

Regina smirked before continuing down the hall.

 

“Who’s that?” Emma heard Zelena ask. Instinctively, she listened close.

 

After a long pause, Regina said, “No one.”

 

###################################

 

 **Apple Valley, Ma**  
**The Present**

 

During the deepest part of her dreams she saw a circular, brightly lit ring. Around it, in the darkness, stood a crowd. Small groups of them chanted her name, but the bulk of them screamed for her opponent. Some shook signs: “Brains vs. Brawn.”

 

The advertising had done its job; people were interested in this fight. They’d hyped it for months. A lot of people were here; even more paid to see the match on pay-per-view.

 

Emma, her manager, and her crew lined up at the back, waiting for her music and a spotlight to hit her. When it did, she strode in short, easy steps, eyes on the ring without deviation. Right before she entered the cage, she spread out her arms like wings, silently declaring “here I am.”

 

Fuck the crowd and them cheering so loudly for her to lose. Tonight she’d make it all come together. All the hard work. All the pain that boiled inside her that she needed to exorcise once and for all.

 

Tonight.

 

Her opponent’s music sounded. Dakota “Disaster” Domingo, “the Brawn” in this equation of muscles and will played out before a mob.

 

Time sped up and the referee gave them the go-ahead to fight. Emma struck first, a jab to the chin. Her opponent’s head jerked back with the impact, surprised. Emma closed in for another attack, knuckles knocking against Dakota’s cheek, as she set up a combination.

 

Her night.

 

After this, she’d have a title, be the Flyweight division champ.

 

She glanced at the crowd to see her friends. She couldn’t find them. Regina wouldn’t be there and her parents were both gone, had died years ago. In the silo’d murky world of sleep, she expected them anyway. Especially her mother who would have hated this.

 

She could apologize to her tonight. Finally.

 

White light bloomed behind her eyes as a fist bashed into the side of her head. It tingled and floated afterward, no longer feeling attached. Another hit slammed against her ribs, and she sucked in a painful breath and gasped for air. She staggered then fell, bright lights overhead shining down as her opponent pounced on her. Fists crashed into her face over and over. Emma tried to defend herself, but it all happened so quickly. Grumpy, her trainer, screamed, but she couldn’t hear him over the sudden exaltation of the roaring crowd who sensed an ending, one they wanted.

 

There must’ve been the usual count-out, but the stupor from the repeated blows drowned everything else out. Her opponent pulled away, and Emma could move again, a little. She struggled to one knee.

The referee blocked her in.

 “It’s over,” he said, making sure he had eye contact before backing away.

 

She never lost consciousness, not really, not that it mattered. Her trainer helped her to her still-wobbly legs and walked her to her corner.

 

Dakota was already celebrating, grinning, hand raised in the air.

 

Shame, a ball of fire, ate away at her gut. Emma covered her eyes with her hand, trying to hide the tears, swallowing back a lump of disgust at herself.

 

Her heart cried an apology, _I’m sorry, Mom. Sorry Mom. Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry Mom._

 

The fight had lasted one minutes and forty-seven seconds. Overnight, Emma’s career had gone from promising to laughingstock.

 

Sometimes in her sleep, she saw the fist coming towards her face and couldn’t stop it from hitting her.

 

She woke, head ringing from a blow that had only been in her imagination.

 

She glanced at her phone and saw she’d missed a few calls. She usually kept the thing on vibrate, and ignored it at will. There were people who, a year and a half ago, she’d talked to daily but now she only wanted to avoid.

 

Like Grumpy, who left a message saying, “Emma, I know you’re still ‘training’ or whatever the hell it is, but we need to set something up and quit dicking around. It’s been eighteen months, kid. Look, I got a call today and I think you should…” She skipped the rest.

 

The next message was from the instructor at her dojo. “Emma, this is Master K,” came the heavy Brooklyn-accented voice. ”We haven’t seen you for a bit. I know we’d talked about you entering our coaching and leadership...”

 

Skip.

 

“Emma, it’s Archie. We discussed you coming to the reunion tomorrow for your mom’s birthday? Well, we mostly did before you asked if Regina was going to be there.” Emma almost fast forwarded but her foster brother tugged harder on her heartstrings than most people did. She let it play. “Can we please talk about it a little more? Call me when you get a chance.”

 

She wandered barefoot toward her barbells and half-heartedly lifted weights with one arm then the other for ten minutes. She fixed her eyes on the guitar across the room as she worked out. After the fight, she’d tried a series of hobbies, including taking music lessons. She’d quit after only a few weeks. Next, she bought a model airplane. It remained in bits and pieces on her small, round dining table. She turned her head only to find a stack of three books on her nightstand, checked out of the library about seven months ago and gathering dust.

 

Her entire apartment was littered with her lack of follow through.

 

Her feet were padding on pavement a half hour later, earbuds in her ears as she jogged. Her daily ritual of jogging five miles was the only part of her workout ritual she’d preserved.

 

After she showered, she put her hair up in a messy bun. She passed by the framed black and white photo in her bedroom that showed her throwing a punch in her MMA gloves, which covered her hands to her knuckles. In the picture, her muscles were toned, sculpted through hard work. She projected self-assurance. She completely believed she could win.

 

She grabbed a pair of jeans laying over a chair and pulled on a button-up shirt from her closet. She headed to the station, dressed, checked her gear, and attended the daily briefing.

 

The air conditioning in the conference room didn’t work very well, barely circulating. Other officers shifted endlessly in their hard plastic chairs as they tried to listen despite the heat. She looked forward to retreating to the peace and A/C of her squad car. The first time she’d been a cop, before going pro in the MMA circuit, she’d had a partner on patrol. They didn’t have the manpower for that now. Something to be grateful for.

 

Up at the front, the lieutenant presented tips and news they needed to be aware of. There was a lot of the usual stuff — a rash of car- and home-burglaries now that it was summer and kids were out of school. A streaker who kept running through local malls broke up some of the tedium. Apple Valley, Massachusetts had about a hundred thousand people in it. The police department had four districts and each had about sixty patrol officers. Not too big or too small, in Emma’s view.

 

“Nolan, someone for you up front,” the desk sergeant said, stopping her at the end of the meeting.

 

She went towards the main heavy doors, which made a quiet buzzing noise as she passed through them. In the lobby, decorated with gray and white tiles of carpet and an oddly large amount of ferns, sat her foster brother. He smiled as he saw her and gave her a traditional hug greeting.

 

“I was in the neighborhood.”

 

She didn’t entirely believe him. He could be like a dog with a bone when he wanted something. “You don’t have a client?”

 

Dr. Archie Hopper had two degrees, one in psychology and one in social work. His private practice did pretty well which didn’t surprise her. Archie had always been a great listener and he was one of the most patient and genuinely kind people she had ever known. Which made it all the harder to say no to him about anything, and she suspected he knew it.

 

“Last minute cancellation.” He smiled brightly, ignoring her doubting expression, and held up a paper bag. “I brought you a bagel.”

 

She didn’t take it — yet. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I need to go in about ten, okay? This is about the reunion, right?”

 

“Well, I did think I would mention it.”

 

She shook her head, a small, fond grin breaking over her mouth. “I knew it.” She snatched his offering from him. “You are the most unsubtle person in the history of the world.”

 

“I accept that.” His eyes twinkled, as he adjusted his glasses. “So, the reunion.”

 

“Archie, I already asked you if Regina was going to be there and you said yes. That ends the conversation.”

 

He sat down on a metal bench and patted the spot beside him. “Does it though? She used to be your best friend. You two can’t get along for a few hours?”

 

She’d never told him or any of the others details about the rift.  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be around each other,  okay?”

 

“Tomorrow is two days until your mom’s birthday. I want to make it special. Really honor her.”

 

Emma’s teeth clenched together. A stabbing pain pushed deep into her chest. She swore he was trying to up the ante on her. As a fighter, one of the first things she’d learned was to use imagery to keep calm and level-headed. She used flashes of still lakes in her head automatically now — — mirror-like, not a ripple anywhere.

 

“I even have an idea,” he said, excited and determined.

 

 “What’s your idea?”

 

“I’ll tell you if you come.”

 

“Archie,” she said on the back of a sigh.

 

“Emma, please? How often do I ask you for things? Really ask you?”

  

The old gang got together every six months. The last four times, Emma had made up reasons not to go. Work or training, her entire basket of excuses was comprised of those two things. It was like there had been a divorce, and Regina got custody of the friends.

 

He’d never been this persistent.

 

“I talked to Regina,” Archie said. “For what it’s worth? She misses you.”

 

Emma didn’t let herself relive the thousand memories caged, wrapped in chains and padlocked in her heart.

 

He tried again. “Just stay for a couple of drinks.”

 

She owed him. She always would. Shit.

 

“This is such a bad idea.”

 

“Two drinks,” he insisted, reading her weakening position, as skilled as any opponent she’d ever met in the ring. Always well-intentioned though, the jerk. “Come and hear my idea, then we’ll toast to your mom.”

 

She couldn’t figure out a way to dodge either of his blows. Shit. “Fine. Okay.”

 

“Really?”

 

“A couple drinks,” she said firmly.

 

“I was thinking about visiting your mom’s grave. If you want to go with me, I can —”

 

“No, thanks.” She didn’t visit her mother’s grave. Not ever. “I’m sorry, I really need to go.”

 

He opened his arms and embraced her. He always did. Despite him being a con artist with a heart of gold when it came to her well-being, or maybe because of it, she loved him.

 

She ruffled his hair in farewell.

 

Later that night, after her shift and when the paperwork was done, she headed home.

 

She pulled up Youtube on her laptop and searched for clips of Regina’s television show, “Regal Desserts with Regina Mills.”

 

“Healthy cookies, an oxymoron or a needed reality?” Regina looked directly in the camera; her kitchen was a little dark, with very little natural light. Maybe because it was just a local show and the budget was lacking. Emma watched every episode and she liked that it, at least in her mind, created a certain intimacy.

 

Regina talked to the camera like it was an old friend. “Everyone who has ever baked cookies, and yes, even those of you who stick to buying Pillsbury cookie dough, know that there are very few things that smell as heavenly as freshly-baked cookies. It excites all of our senses even before we bite into one. Mostly that’s due to four ingredients.” The camera focused in on each as she named them. “Sugar, butter, flour and…” She winked at her audience.

 

Something so small shouldn’t sting Emma’s heart, but it did.

 

“The extra something: chocolate, oatmeal, nuts and so on,” The Regina on the screen went on, oblivious to the reaction of her audience of one. “Those ingredients we add to make the cookies ours and our families. But we also need to take care of our families. We need to help them develop healthy habits and learn that moderation can be a good thing. So today on Regal Desserts, two types of cookies that defy convention but are still heavenly.” She said the last line playfully.

 

“Now, I can’t play it for you because,” she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, telling her audience a secret, ”of licensing and cost, but I highly recommend listening to oldies while you bake. Sam Cooke, Otis Redding, Etta James, Aretha….”

 

Emma wondered why she did this to herself.


	2. Confrontation and Convergence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're thinking: two timelines? Well, yeah. Most of "the past" in this story takes place between 2007 and 2010 while Emma is in high school. And "the present" is now.
> 
> By the way, part of this story was an experiment in telling a story from a single POV so we'll be sticking with Emma. Can I admit I miss writing in Regina POV though? Just between us?

 

**Apple Valley, Ma**

**The Past**

**November 2007**

 

Homecoming came and went, not that Emma cared. She did note that Regina didn’t make the court. She strode through the halls too busy to care, people following her and asking questions about the various areas of the school she ruled. Debate club people wanted to know plans for an away competition. Students on the newspaper passed her articles or showed her pictures. Other popular kids courted her opinion or her presence.

 

Sometimes in the hallways, Regina’s eyes met hers and held. More often than not, it stopped all of her forward momentum. Every time, it felt big, a sonic boom that cracked into her world.

 

On the wrestling team: an impasse. Emma defeated all of the guys occupying the lower weight classes: 113, 120, 126. This meant, technically, she’d earned a place on the team. However, the coach made her practice by herself, away from the others. Her mother, stopping in late one afternoon to check in on things, was predictably infuriated. She went to the principal and he forced the coach not to single Emma out. The coach let her participate in drills after that, but not much else.

 

Complaints about including her started to pour in from some of her teammates’ parents. The coach refused to allow Emma any one-on-one contact, which meant no actual wrestling. He didn’t hide his intent to bench her during competition.

 

Her mother’s righteous anger remained unquenched, and she promised she wouldn’t give up. Emma had hoped some of the controversy would die down after she’d been on the team for a bit. It hadn’t. She still received glares in school. She kept her headphones on, loud enough to dodge hearing muttered insults but low enough so she’d hear any danger coming.

 

Emma continued hoping she could eventually show them she belonged.

 

After the first two meetings, the Arts into Action group took on the format of each student presenting a piece of art and explaining what it meant to them. Except for Emma, who chose to haunt the back of the room and watch. She wasn’t much for being part of a group. Even when it came to wrestling, she hadn’t joined to be part of a team.

 

She considered Arts into Action kind of boring but didn’t want to bail just yet. Regina’s chosen pieces were more thoughtful than she would have guessed they’d be. The last one had been a painting of two pieces of the Berlin Wall broken apart by the word “Freedom.”

 

For the fifth meeting of Arts into Action, she arrived first. She set down her gym bag and slouched into a chair at the back. Jefferson entered next, wearing sunglasses and a military officer’s hat. It looked vintage, but Emma couldn’t be sure. He tipped his cap to her. He sat midway between the front and Emma.

 

As Regina and Zelena came in, they took the usual seats in the front row. Archie did too. He seemed especially ruffled today, shirt untucked, and holding his arm tight to his ribs. His glasses were missing. A scrape ran down the bridge of his nose.

 

Bullied again, Emma decided. He gave off waves of vulnerability in the way he held himself and the way he dressed, always in ill-fitting clothes.

 

Mary Margaret approached when she saw him and sat beside him, talking softly. “You look like you’ve had a rough day.”

 

“I’m okay, Mrs. Nolan. Just an accident at P.E.” Jefferson tilted his head and kept his eyes on them, none of his usual amusement in sight.

 

“Let’s chat for a few minutes after group,” she said, her years of experience as a teacher allowing her to give a command without seeming harsh.

 

“Sure, Mrs. Nolan,” he said. He reached in his bag and produced a video tape. “I have an art piece. Is there something we could play this on? If not, someone else can go.”

 

No one wanted to. Instead, everyone was happy to wait while he went to the library and borrowed a TV and VCR in Mrs. Nolan’s name.

 

He played a clip from the 1968 movie, The Planet of the Apes. In the scene, a bunch of humans were in a cage, including Charlton Heston, the main character. He drew words in the dirt, and another captive tried to stop him, going so far as to attack him.

 

Archie stopped it after that scene.

 

Zelena flipped through a fashion magazine. Regina tapped her pencil eraser against a notebook. Emma kind of liked the clip but schooled her expression to be neutral. Jefferson rested his chin in his hand during the movie, interested. Immediately after though, he opened his sketchbook and scratched light pencil marks on the paper.

 

Archie licked his lips, eyes flicking over each of them in turn, aware that they weren’t really paying attention.

 

“The movie examines power. It does a one-eighty on what we consider normal. It gives human beings none and instead puts those once thought of as animals in complete control. They don’t care about truth or compassion or justice as much as they do keeping that power.”

 

He touched the edges of his hair with a trembling hand near his forehead just near the start of a bruise.“But this scene shows that even the humans, in their fear, would rather destroy anything unique or special than risk punishment. They would rather things stay as they are than —” He swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to complete his sentence. “Than...They beat him down and tried to make him just like them.” His voice grew raw. “But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be.”

 

It jarred Emma, tilted the balanced world she tried to stand on. A need to move spiked in her, to push her muscles and herself till things felt even inside her again. Jefferson stopped sketching. Regina’s pencil stopped in mid-air. Zelena raised her head, the glossy print in front of her forgotten.

 

Archie squeezed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “The main character is strong and smart. It’s him against almost everyone, except for the two apes who listen. And I think that’s why he wins. People don’t need a lot to beat the odds, but they need — they need someone.”

 

Regina stared at Archie, frozen, face soft and stricken. She drew in a raspy breath, and crossed her arms on her desk, drawing into herself.

 

Mary Margaret watched Archie worriedly, already trying to assess how to help.

 

Emma didn’t know how many acts of courage she’d ever witnessed. Yet this kid, this beat-up, disregarded kid spoke fearlessly and showed them his unblemished heart.

 

“’People need people’ is hardly an original thought,” Zelena said, but it was quiet, a fabrication of her usual ‘I don’t care’.

 

“Hey,” Jefferson said, leaning toward her. “Do you want a can of ‘shut the hell up’? Because I can get you one.” He straightened, looking ahead, gripping the edges of his desk.

 

Mary Margaret, in four previous meetings of Arts into Action, had given very little guidance, but she did so now. “We will be allowed to tell the truth in this group. No one gets to minimize or insult anyone or their feelings. There will also be no use of the words ‘shut up’. Are we all clear?”

 

Everyone fell into either a sullen or thoughtful silence.

 

“Does anyone else have art to present?” Mary Margaret asked.

 

Zelena slowly pulled a printout of a painting from her bag, a classical piece with a pale, naked woman. “Now,” she said, with false cheer, fighting past the heaviness still lingering in the room. “Let’s talk about how this piece makes us feel.”

 

Regina shook her head back and forth furiously.

 

“What? “ Zelena asked airly. “The name of the painting has the word ‘virgin’ in it. I thought it would resonate with you.”

 

The others were barely verbal after that. The meeting mercifully ended a half hour later.

 

Mary Margaret drew Archie aside, talking to him quietly. Emma and the others gave them the room.

 

Outside the door, Jefferson leaned his head and shoulders against the wall. Emma hovered just outside the classroom. Zelena and Regina started down the hallway.

 

“Hey, short, dark, and popular,” Jefferson called. “Can’t you get your minions to back the fuck off him?”

 

Zelena had been brimming for a fight with him since group. She marched a few feet back in his direction. “I’m surprised you care, psycho. Tell me, is it true love with you and Archie? Do you have a crush?”

 

He pushed off the wall and adjusted the lapel of his trenchcoat. “You think you calling me a fag is original?” he asked with a smirk. “Jesus, can none of you and your kind think for themselves?”

 

Zelena put her hands on her hips. “Can you not look like a boring, cheap vampire?”

 

Regina backed up a few steps and took her sister’s arm, pulling her along. “Zelena, come on.”

 

“Your friends torture him,” Jefferson said, his sardonic veneer falling away. “And because they do, most of the school has decided that if they do too, they can be just like the cool kids.”

 

Regina’s rapid steps faltered. Emma wondered why, throughout this entire exchange, Regina didn’t turn around.

 

Zelena yanked her arm from Regina. “Aren’t you going to tell this idiot that it’s not our job to give charity to the masses?” Her eyes cut back and forth between her sister and Jefferson. “Why so quiet? Why no cutting him down to size for daring to challenge you?”

 

Regina closed in on Zelena, a muscle jumping near her jaw. “We’re going to go. Now.” The commanding voice and the blazing inferno in her eyes would have made almost anyone in the school cower.

 

Almost.

 

Dark amusement crossed Zelena’s face as she said, “Are you afraid for them to find out what happened earlier? What, the freak-show and the dyke? Or perhaps you’re ashamed.” Glee rose in her voice. “You are.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Emma knew some of the names people called Jefferson. Until now, though people jeered her with “dyke” occasionally, she didn’t process that she’d become someone with a school-wide reputation. It didn’t matter, not really — except it kind of did. She didn’t join the wrestling team to become a spectacle. She just wanted to wrestle. Knowing that everyone at Abigail Adams High School judged her to be worthless stung.

 

Jefferson broke into a jog, shuffling to a halt in front of Zelena. “I love a good story.”

 

Emma jogged to catch up. Jefferson challenged things, in his appearance, his attitude, and the overall way he carried himself. She didn’t read him as violent at all, but his unpredictability made her want to keep an eye on him. At least right now.

 

“Are you wearing eyeliner?” Zelena asked him.

 

“Absolutely.” He leaned an arm on her shoulder. She shoved it away. “Soooo, what isn’t she telling us?”

 

“Well, Regina, shall I regale them with the story of just before group?”

 

“Zelena.” Regina’s hands became fists, her voice whipped toward her sister. “We’re going.”

 

Zelena’s expression grew more and more triumphant. Regina curled her books harder into her chest, the steel of her stance weakening. Zelena turned to the others, eyes blazing contentment, enjoying the moment. “It was on our way here. Some of our friends, well, Regina’s friends,” she amended, “surrounded Archie. They batted him around like a volleyball and capped it off by taking turns seeing how hard they could shove him into a locker. I believe one of them was Regina’s current boyfriend, isn’t that right Regina?”

 

Emma’s brow furrowed. “Wait, what do you mean, you saw it?”

 

“We stood there as they made him a human pinata, waiting for them to finish so we could continue on our merry way.” Zelena said.

 

Jefferson’s expression grew disgusted. Emma wondered how many times in her life, anyone had ever dared to look at Regina that way. “You know him, and neither of you lifted a finger to help him.”

 

“Of course not,” Zelena said. “Why should I care? No one one gives a damn about me. As for mommy’s perfect angel — popular, the right boyfriends, the right clubs, the best grades.” Bitterness sharpened her voice. “She can’t risk anything tainting her pristine little world or her standing. And sticking up for the school loser would certainly do that.”

 

Regina lifted her chin and backed away from all of them, but shame colored her cheeks.

 

“You both suck!” Jefferson’s yell echoed down the hall. “I really shouldn’t be surprised. You’d think I’d know better. You weak, spineless…”

 

Regina thrust her iron defenses between them, anger stirring on her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“Jefferson, come on, man,” Emma said, a light rebuke. She didn’t know why she bothered. Everything inside her agreed with him. Just...something about the stricken expression on Regina’s face tugged at her.

 

A moment later, she stalked away from them. One of her books clattered to the floor. She didn’t bother to stop and pick it up.

 

For some stupid reason, their encounter that day fueled certain fantasies as Emma lay in bed that night. The impervious queen’s show of flawed humanity made her reachable somehow.

 

The scene from earlier that day changed. She ran after Regina, trapped her against a set of lockers with her body and muffled her cry of surprise as she kissed her. Regina’s breath grew more and more ragged as she sought more from Emma.

 

Emma tasted the soft curve of her neck. She touched her.

 

Her name was a hot cry on Regina’s lips as Emma’s handmade the forbidden journey to cup her breast.

 

She’d wanted like this before. Always women; from television mostly, ones she didn’t know and would never know. Images lighting her brain like lightning, flashes of skin and the temptation of curves making her ache.

 

She’d never fantasized about someone real and near.

 

It felt like trouble. She — Regina Mills — was a world of trouble.

 

 

###########################################

 

 

**Apple Valley, Ma**

**The Present**

 

 

_“...so today on Regal Desserts, two types of cookies that defy convention but are still heavenly.” She said the last line playfully._

_“Now, I can’t play it for you because,” she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, telling her audience a secret, ”of licensing and cost, but I highly recommend listening to oldies while you bake. Sam Cooke, Otis Redding, Etta James, Aretha….”_

 

_Emma wondered why she did this to herself._

 

 

Emma found release in violence, a simplicity to it that pulled from her something primal and true. She needed to move toward something, to take action and do something, seize something, fight for something.

 

Her mother had thought that such a radical need to be in motion denoted a lack of thinking. Mary Margaret wanted her daughter to use reason, words and tenacity to make a difference in the world. Emma, who didn’t necessarily have the ambition to change anything or anyone, just wanted to move.

 

Emma swallowed down that instinct as she stared through the front windows of Shakespeare's Alehouse and Wine Bar. Because, fuck, there sat Regina Mills.

 

Pink collared shirt, sipping at a glass of what was probably a mojito. Dark hair touching her shoulders, curling under just a little at the ends. Her lips accentuated by deep red lipstick.

 

On a computer screen, when she watched Regina’s show, the 2-D vision of her could be controlled. She could turn it on and off.

 

Now, seeing her, her heart burned with need at the same time a chill of anger spread through her head. It made her rethink going in. She suspected that one look in those penetrating, quietly world-weary eyes, and she’d cave. She wanted to hold onto her righteous fury at her.

 

Yeah, she should go. She’d text Archie her apologies.

 

Except she’d have to face him at their weekly dinner and he’d give her that disappointed expression, turning the handle on her guilt to full blast.

 

She muttered her promise to him: “Just a couple drinks to see the old gang. Just a couple drinks.”

 

A couple pushed the door open and nearly smacked into her, apologizing. She sighed and decided she should just go in. She plunged her hands deep into her front hoodie pockets and caught the front door with her shoulder before it closed.

 

“A couple drinks,” she said again and turned sideways to squeeze past the crowded bar area to the small twenty-seat dining room beyond it.

 

They were easy to find.

 

Since high school, they’d all changed in some ways but in others they hadn’t. Archie, glasses perched on his nose and wearing a fucking bow tie and sweater-vest like he’d stepped into this world from the 1950’s. Jefferson, wearing a top-hat and a long black trench coat, in July. His feet were propped on an empty chair she assumed was meant for her. Emma wondered how his art was going. He’d submitted some of his pieces to local galleries, but last she heard, all of them had been rejected.

 

Zelena examined a wine bottle and handed it back to the waiter with a shake of her head. “My mistake asking for the house wine. Can you bring me something that tastes a little less like mold? Thank you, darling.”

 

Regina, seated facing the door, regarded the exchange with an amused curve of her lips. “Snob,” she said, chuckling as the waiter fled.

 

Zelena preened then winked at her. “Of course I am.”

 

In high school, tension had constantly brimmed between them. Now, they sat next to each other radiating only affection and a familial tolerance.

 

Archie spotted Emma first and surged to his feet, opening his arms and embracing her. Zelena’s arms were more tepid as they wrapped around her, but they hadn’t seen each since the fight with Regina.

 

She glanced up to Regina’s face. How the fuck was she was more beautiful? It punched her in the gut, made her want to fight. Her body revved with old feelings and desires. All of her daydreams stampeded through her after years of being repressed. In so many of her teenage, then adult, fantasies she’d imagined Regina talking to her, using that impressive vocabulary to tell Emma what she wanted, and how good it felt when Emma gave it to her. Regina’s calm, confident voice becoming helpless until Emma’s touch stole all of her words.

 

There were other dreams too, just as common, loving ones where she just, in some small way, said what she’d been hiding in her heart for years.

 

The memories of real life demanded their turn, twisting her round and round, until she grew dizzy. Every laugh they’d shared, or time Regina soothed her with kinds, soft words, or when they told one another secrets they would never, ever tell anyone else.

 

Jefferson stood and tipped his hat before settling an arm around her, whispering. “Could be worse. She could be the first in a line of Regina clones.” His eyes widened dramatically, the black mascara making his blue eyes pop. Emma laughed. Saying off-the-wall things had always been part of his charm.

 

Regina didn’t rise at all. All signs of humor drained from her face, replaced by an unreadable expression. She recognized Regina’s shields. Their friendship used to mean Regina didn’t need them around her.

 

“I was worried you weren’t going to be able to make it,” Archie said and squeezed her shoulder, guiding Emma to sit next to him. From someone else, it may have been a hint, an insult, a barb — she was at least forty-five minutes late. Her foster brother didn’t play those kind of games.

 

She could feel Regina’s eyes on her. Emma pushed her fists deeper still into her pockets and avoided her gaze. It felt like they were sitting too close despite Regina being across the table. The room choked her with ripples of warmth that caused her skin to prickle with moisture.

 

She needed something cold and ordered a beer.

 

“We were just sharing news,” Zelena said.

 

“Well, you all were,” Jefferson corrected. “I’m still bartending. My masterpiece.”

 

“It’s just for now,” Archie said, defending Jefferson from his own self-deprecation.

 

Jefferson gave a small roll of his eyes at Archie’s confidence in him but grinned. He gestured toward Regina. “Anyway, Regina is about to go big time.”

 

Emma turned to her.

 

She smiled, polished and composed. “That’s not a certainty in any way. I was just explaining that I may have the possibility of moving my show to a national market. A significant opportunity, but a vastly different direction than I had previously considered. We’ll simply have to see what happens.”

 

Emma gritted her teeth to bear the brunt of two conflicting emotions. She’d missed the way Regina chose the longest, most sophisticated way to describe any given thing. She also resented Regina’s impeccability. The way she casually she mentioned this giant career break. Regina Mills with her suit, diamond earrings and matching necklace. Everything coordinated and just so. Fucking perfect.

 

“Are you still fighting, Emma?” Zelena asked. “I meant — your career — not with…anyone.” She blanched, then took a long sip of water.

 

“I’m training. Want to get into shape.” She toyed with the label on her beer bottle. “Hard to balance that and being a cop.”

 

“I can imagine,” she said. “I sometimes run into officers from your department at the courthouse. They have promised me that you are, in fact, alive.” The edge of hurt in Zelena’s words scraped over Emma. Everyone’s eyes fell or wandered away from the table. Like they all felt she’d blown them off but were too polite to say it.

 

It wasn’t that simple. She missed them too, could feel the hole of their absence in her life when she let herself. Her friends.

 

No, her family. The only one she had left.

 

It was hard to face them, especially them as a unit. It ached to be around them. Around her too. They were part of a vast array of things and people she tried to avoid now. Especially Regina. Except even without them speaking for so long, Regina badgered her.

 

Archie refused to let Emma drift away into her self-imposed isolation. Sometimes he brought Jefferson to their weekly Thursday dinners. They were roommates. Archie certainly didn’t need the extra money, but Jefferson would have probably been living in a shack without the help.

 

“If you ever do make it downtown, maybe we’ll grab lunch?”

 

“Sure, we could do that.”

 

Zelena moved the spotlight from Emma to Archie. “So, Archie, you dating anyone?”

 

He held up his hands. “No, no, no — stop offering to set me up. I’m not ready. The last thing I want to think about right now is getting back out there. I took Jefferson’s advice and got a dog. She’s a rescue.”

 

Jefferson waggled his brows. “Actually, I suggested you get a dog or become my sugar daddy.”

 

“I did let you move in with me,” Archie pointed out.

 

“A true sugar daddy gives jewelry. I like silver.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Archie adjusted his glasses and squirmed in his chair. Archie never felt comfortable discussing sex or dating. For many years he’d struggled with confidence which impacted both. “My ex is a good person, we just weren’t a good fit in the end. I think she just found me kind of dull to be with on a day-to-day basis. It was hard to realize that but...but I’m hopeful one day I’ll meet someone who won’t.”

 

Emma winced, kicked by self-inflicted recriminations. He’d gotten divorced six months ago, and they had talked about it exactly once. She thought about him, worried about him; she just struggled with finding the energy to contact him. Since the fight, the loss, all of their contact and conversation happened at the weekly get togethers. He hadn’t brought up the divorce more than just the one time. She should have asked.

 

Zelena patted Archie’s hand. “I just trying to get you to play the field. Have a little fun. But, I don’t want to have to represent you again so take your time.” She withdrew as a new bottle of wine was delivered. She tasted it and apparently it passed muster. “Besides,” she said airly, “you should make sure to consider all your options.”

 

A moment later the table jumped and Zelena winced and glared at Jefferson.

 

“Four glasses?” She asked directing the question to Emma. Emma shrugged, pushing aside her beer. Zelena turned back to the waiter. “Four glasses and a virgin strawberry daiquiri which,” she eyed Jefferson, “I will point out again, is basically a smoothie.”

 

“I like the umbrellas,” he said, which Emma recalled him saying at least once before to similar harassment from her.

 

“And how are you overall, Emma?” Regina asked quietly.

 

In high school, their eyes met in the halls and a boom resounded through her, shaking her. Then as now, these first few words between them in two years caused shockwaves.

 

Her eyes dropped, and she tried to use that old ‘imagine a lake and find calm’ technique. Anything to keep herself steady and stop her anger from crumbling into dust. “Regular paycheck and benefits. No complaints.”

 

Regina straightened in her chair, confused, then resigned.

 

“You know I was just telling a patient how much we associate well-being with how work is going.” Archie reached toward the center of the table and plucked an eggroll for the appetizer platter. “He struggles with anxiety. His boss is a bad fit for him because he micromanages and doesn’t offer very much encouragement. Same job and another boss and he might do really well.”

 

“Well,” Zelena sighed. “I know I feel a weight off my shoulders since I opened my own practice. But I could use some down time. It’s been months since I’ve been on anything resembling a date.”

 

“My god, it’s like you’ve become a nun.”

 

Zelena made a face at Jefferson and stole his top hat, placing it on her head at an angle. “I know. It’s awful.”

 

“It is surprising, given your appetites,” Regina said, pushing the hat down lower on Zelena’s head.

 

“Now, now. I am selective, sober and use birth control. There’s nothing wrong with having as much fun as possible. If only I found men useful in any other way.”

 

Regina chuckled, “Perhaps one day.”

 

“I know I try to be as useless as possible,” Jefferson said.

 

Emma yanked a menu from the center of the table and stared at it. She told herself to keep mostly quiet and, whatever she did, not talk to Regina. It was easier thought than done. She found it almost impossible to deny that familiar urge to engage with her. “I guess you’re pretty good then, Regina? Your own show instead of keeping you crammed in that local morning show, and now maybe a national thing, huh?”

 

“Yes, and I’m dating a very stable, respectful man named…”

 

“Craig,” Jefferson, Zelena and Archie said together.

 

A muscle ticked in Emma’s cheek.

 

“I still say he doesn’t exist,” said Jefferson. “She’s never introduced him to us. All we know is he’s an investment banker and collects old coins. He sounds too boring to be real.”

 

“It’s not serious enough to scare him with all of you,” Regina said, smirking at him. She crossed one arm over the other on the table and turned her attention to Emma again. “You didn’t really answer my question, Emma. How are you?”

 

The quiet, wounded way she asked it made Emma push back from the table. “Pretty sure I did answer.”

 

She hadn’t, but she didn’t care. She didn’t owe Regina a thing.

 

Regina’s jaw clenched and her lips thinned. “No,” Regina said, matter-of-factly, her calm strained. “What you did was give an adult equivalent of ‘I’m fine’. Since we are all no longer in high school, I expected a more complete response.”

 

“Well you can add my answer to your ‘things I dislike about Emma’ list.”

 

“Or you could act like an adult and actually share basic information.”

 

The air became prickly and uncomfortable. “Yeah, I am an adult, which means I get to make choices about things like what I tell and don’t tell people.”

 

“Come on, you two, put the claws away,” Zelena said softly.

 

Regina leaned forward towards Emma, fingers steepled. “When people care about someone, they are naturally curious about the details in their life.”

 

“Maybe, I just think you have a strange way of showing how much you care about me.”

 

“If you want to talk about what happened, we can —”

 

Emma gripped the edge of the table, and their verbal tennis, as fast and furious as any set ever played at Wimbledon, continued. “I don’t.”

 

“Then I reiterate, adults talk in complete thoughts and sentences.”

 

“Oh, is that how it works? They actually talk things out?”

 

“Again, if you —”

 

“Guys!” Zelena said loudly enough to make several people from nearby tables swivel their heads in her direction.

 

“Sorry,” Emma said and declared herself right in thinking coming here was a mistake. “You know what, I should get home. Early day tomorrow.”

 

“Wait,” Archie said and touched her arm. “Can you give me another few minutes? Please? I told you I have an idea.”

 

Sometimes it felt like the balloon of her life drooped, empty and lifeless, and he was one of the few people who added air. She poured more wine and returned to her seat.

 

He sagged with relief and beamed, as if by staying she’d done something heroic, given him a gift. “Thanks, Emma.” He faced the others. “Usually we’d catch up, toast Mrs. Nolan and the Five Flames and call it a night. But, her birthday is tomorrow. I think we should take the opportunity to truly honor her and what she taught us. I want to have one last Arts into Action meeting. The Five Flames getting together, reviewing a piece of art,…”

 

“And the dares?” Zelena asked.

 

“Well, that was always the most important part,” Archie said.

 

She nodded. “So then we’d need a debrief too, right?”

 

“My thought was we could get together tomorrow and do the follow up the next week,” he explained. “Just like we used to. I could take care of picking out the art. I know it’s a little last minute, but what does everyone think?”

 

“Are we meeting at PLB?” Regina asked.

 

Archie smiled. “Of course. It wouldn’t be an official meeting without that.”

 

“We’re sure no one tore that barn down?” Emma asked.

 

“Quite sure,” Zelena said, but didn’t clarify.

 

“So,” Archie said, corralling them back toward his original question. “What about if we meet early evening? Maybe seven or so while there’s still some light?”

 

“Aces,” Jefferson said, his way of saying he was in.

 

“I’ll go,” Zelena added and turned a pointed look to her sister.

 

Regina frowned. “Why are you giving me that look?”

 

“Because you’re a workaholic who only barely lets yourself have a life.”

 

“I have a life. I’m dating —”

 

“Craig,” everyone except Emma chroused.

 

Regina ignored all of them. “Of course I’ll go, Archie.”

 

Emma instinctively gave herself an out. “I’ll have to see how things go at the station. I’ll let you know.”

 

“Thank you again for putting this together,” Regina said to Archie, beating Emma to the punch before she could stand again. Regina hugged everyone in turn except Emma. Emma glared at her beer bottle, pretending not to notice her departure.

 

“Emma,” Archie said quietly, eyes travelling between her and Regina. “Maybe —”

 

Emma turned hard eyes on him and he stopped.

 

She waited five minutes before making an excuse to leave.

 

Zelena moved toward her and hugged her. “I may be wasting my breath but after Archie’s reunion, can you try not to be such a stranger?”

 

She gave a nod she didn’t think she meant before breaking away.

 


	3. Dares and Desertions

 

**Apple Valley, Ma**

**The Past**

**December 2007**

 

The following week, Emma again arrived first at her mom’s classroom for the Arts into Action meeting. She caught her mother and Regina mid-conversation. She didn’t know if she should go in, so she turned her back to them and paced near the doorway.

 

“...don’t think this group is a good fit for me. I joined because I assumed it would involve some kind of community service. Something that would be very useful on my transcript. Instead, with all due respect, Mrs. Nolan, it’s art appreciation.”

 

Her mom leaned back against her desk, arms and legs crossed. “It’s your choice, Regina.”

 

“Thanks for understanding.”

 

“I do. I’m sorry that you have wasted your own time.” Regina gaped at her in confusion. “This is your club. I told all of you that you own it. If it’s not what you want it to be, it’s because of you.”

 

Outside, Emma smirked just a little. Her mom, she thought, and couldn’t help being proud.

 

Regina’s calm, reasonable voice bent with a hint of outrage. “You’re the teacher.”

 

“A teacher’s greatest calling is to get students to seek answers. Why did you stay in this club for over a month? What were you hoping for?” Mary Margaret tilted her head, giving Regina time to answer, and continued when she didn’t. “You cultivate an image at this school that shields you from being doubted or challenged. That must feel pretty safe. Maybe part of you is looking for something different? You’re a natural leader, ten times as smart as most of the teachers, much less the kids. You could accomplish anything. Maybe even pull together a group as different as this one. If you want to.”

 

Emma felt a tap at her shoulder. Jefferson, wearing a beret and several large crosses hanging low over his t-shirt, waved. Archie was just behind him. “Are we protesting or is there just something terrifying in that classroom?” He leaned and looked past her, spotting Regina. “Yikes, there is.”

 

“Hey,” Emma objected, nudging him.

 

Interest and realization flickered over his face. “Très galant.” He lowered his voice. “Look, no judgements about...whatever you’re into.”

 

“I’m not…”

 

She didn’t get a chance to finish her denial as he waved Archie inside and followed.

 

Regina retreated from Mary Margaret as soon as the rest of the club entered. For the first time she sat in the back, across the room from where Emma usually sat.

 

Her mom turned her attention to Archie, asking him a few questions, probably to check on him. Emma had heard her mom at home on the phone with his parents, suggesting a meeting with the principal. She kind of wished her mom would stay out of it, afraid it would just make things worse if anyone found out. Then again, she supposed all teenagers thought adults would make any given thing worse.

 

Group went on as per usual that day, except Regina’s participation was lacking. The last meeting, or maybe the revelation about Regina’s inaction, broke the group further apart; they put more distance between one another. Zelena took the chair closest to the door. Emma remained isolated in the last row. Jefferson was the only occupant of the third row. Archie on the other end of he front row.

 

###################################################

 

The next meeting, Regina stood at the front of the class. “Could I take a few moments, Mrs. Nolan?”

 

Emma’s mother waved her hand, giving her the floor. “Please.”

 

Regina didn’t just stand at the front of the room, she claimed it as hers. She stood before them, in command, hands behind her back. A tingle raced from the base of Emma’s neck down her spine.

 

“This group is called Arts into Action. But it isn’t action to just talk about what art pieces mean to us. It isn’t action to just sit here and think. We are missing the entire point.” She didn’t speak the words, she wove them, keeping her timbre soft and enunciating the words she wanted people to focus on. “Raise your hand if you’ve considered quitting because you’re bored with what we’ve chosen to do so far.” Everyone did so, even a reluctant Archie, with Jefferson raising both hands.

 

Emma came back to herself and resisted the impulse to join them. She would consider it betraying her mom. Mary Margaret looked serene, though, so maybe it was okay.

 

“Exactly,” Regina nodded, granting her approval. “So, it stands to reason that should nothing change, this club won’t last more than another week or two. Mrs.Nolan said in our first meeting, that the vision of this club is to drive self-examination. To find out truths about who we are and who we could be. To challenge us to defy limits placed on us by others and our own interpretation of practicality. Arts into Action. She said this club would be what we make out of it. I believe we can do much, much better.”

 

She removed a stack of papers from a binder on her desk and gave a handout to everyone.

 

“The ‘Issuing of Dares’?” Archie read aloud.

 

“The suggested new format would be that one of us and only one us presents an art piece. All of us discuss what that piece makes them think.” Regina’s eyes met Emma’s in a pointed stare. “All.” She pivoted back toward the others. “And then the person who presents choses one of the other group members and issues a dare inspired by the art piece.”

 

Emma scratched the back of her head, unsure how to react to Regina calling her out. “A dare, like in Truth or Dare?”

 

Regina nodded. “More or less.”

 

“So I could dare you to allow someone to get past first base with you,” Zelena barbed.

 

“No,” Regina said firmly. “Look under parameters. Nothing sexual. Nothing dangerous. Instead, the idea is for us to try and push one another a little out of our comfort zones. Art. And Action.”

 

“The last item on this list,” Jefferson said, dangling it from his fingers, “says election of president.”  

 

“We need a leader.”

 

“There’s like five of us,” Emma said.

 

Zelena sighed. “Let me guess who you think should be president.”

 

Regina’s stance, shoulders back and regal, confirmed it. “I have strong organizational skills. I know how to get things done and I, above all, have previous experience leading a club. I have been president of the debate club for two years now, I was elected president of the student council last year and likely will be again this year. I also am editor of the school paper. This group has the potential to be unique and powerful. A leader will help us stay on course.”

 

“Um,” Archie said, clearing his throat. “I think it’s a good idea.”

 

He could have been kissing up, but his face hid very little and Emma could only read sincerity.

 

“I refuse to call you President, but I will call you Grand Poobah,” Jefferson said and flung the paper he held behind him.

 

Zelena rolled her eyes at him. “You’re an idiot.” Mary Margaret crossed her arms over her chest and fixed Zelena with a hard look. “I know, respect. Sorry.”

 

“I am all about the dares,” Jefferson said. “I’m in.”

 

Archie pursed his lips and gave a nod. “I’d like to try, too.”

 

Zelena leaned back in her desk, eyes squinting as she judged the situation. “What’s to stop me from telling whoever challenges me to fuck off?”

 

“We’d have to assign a consequence,” Archie said after a pause. “If someone fails to complete a dare, we should vote on what that should be.”

 

Zelena kept weighing the room and asked her next question, slowly. “And that would mean anyone, correct? No one would be exempt, not even the president?”

 

“Correct,” Regina said softly, meeting her sister’s eyes in a challenge.

 

“Then I’m in, too.”

 

“And what about you, Emma?” Regina and Emma’s eyes connected as Regina prodded her with the question. “From now on, everyone needs to be a full member or not here.”

 

Archie, in his own way, tried to stick up for Emma. “I don’t think we should put anyone on the —”

 

“Shut up dweeb,” At Zelena’s words, Mary Margaret sighed, loud and aggravated. Zelena winced ever so slightly. “It’s habit. I am trying.”

 

“Emma?” Regina asked, awaiting an answer. Their eyes met and the feeling of sparks against her spine increased.

 

She mumbled, “Okay.”

 

Regina nodded. “Good. I’d like to present next week to show everyone how this is supposed to work. And since this is the first dare, I’m going to ask for a volunteer. After next week, the person who presents will chose anyone they like.”

 

No one said a word.

 

Regina set her hands on her hips. “You all agreed to this idea.” Still, none of them answered. “This won’t succeed if none of you has a backbone.”

 

Emma did her best to fight the impulse she knew would only lead to doom. The longer Regina’s features showed disappointment, the more it bubbled inside her.

 

She cursed inwardly. “I — I’ll do it.”

 

Everyone turned to her, the usually silent phantom at the back of the room.

 

“Thank you, Emma.”

 

Jefferson glanced back over his shoulder, his brows raised in knowing amusement. Emma flipped him off. She felt her mom’s inquisitive stare and sank down in her chair.

 

After the meeting, Mary Margaret lauded Regina with kind words and congratulations. She also wore an amused smile when regarding her daughter.

 

“Emma,” Regina called. She said something to her sister, who left without her, and strolled toward Emma, hips swaying and taking her time. “Thank you for volunteering.”

 

Emma never thought she had much of a libido. It sang high notes now, high enough to break glass, all through her body.

 

“Someone had to.”

 

“I suppose so.” She turned to go.

 

“Regina? About Archie. You — you helped me. Why not him?”

 

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

 

“Come on, Regina.”

 

She could have remained impervious, safe behind her defenses. Instead, she stepped a little closer to Emma. “I leveraged the appearance that I was worried about my friends getting into trouble because your mother is a teacher. That protected my reputation. I don’t have that option with everyone.”

 

“You care that much about what they think of you?”

 

“You don’t understand. I’ve put so much time and work into getting exactly where I am. You think my standing at school happened by accident? No, I planned it, then ensured that it happened. It makes every single thing I want in my future possible. It’s not as if I join my friends when they do despicable things.”

 

It sounded like bullshit. Emma frowned, gnawing on her cheek. She broke free of the Regina-summoned haze in her mind. “Right.”

 

Regina’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

 

“Whatever your master plan is? Standing and watching isn’t noble. It’s worse.”

 

She closed the distance between them, till their faces were only a few inches apart. Emma’s heart raced harder than it ever had even after the most excruciating drill the coach threw at them.

 

“You think that because you have nothing to lose,” Regina said. “You don’t care about your future. You walk alone to classes, sit in the back when you get there and hardly ever say a word. You read during lunch, never interacting with anyone. The only thing in this school you have ever participated in is a team that doesn’t want you on it. I’ve invested things. You know why I’m popular? Because I understand success is a series of choices. I’m a winner. Perhaps, should you ever decide to be anything other than an outsider, you’ll understand a fraction of what that means.”

 

Emma’s own inner fire raged back. “Say what you want about me, I would never just stand by while someone I know got their asses handed to them.”

 

“Really?” Regina laughed, a dry sound. “You know, pretending something isn’t happening isn’t noble either.”

 

“I’m not pretending anything.”

 

She gave another dark chuckle. “Archie gets bullied on a daily basis. Usually between classes. You say you’d help him? Then all you have to do is pay attention.” With that, she turned on her heel and marched away, leaving an impotently seething Emma glaring after her.

 

#################################################################

 

Emma thought over the Archie situation and what Regina said about it for days after, including the weekend. She could sense that taking an action would mean commitment. Promising things, whether implied or stated, always felt covered in thorns.

 

By Monday, she decided to discreetly keep an eye on Archie for a few days, giving her the possibility of dodging responsibility if she could.

 

People slapped Archie’s books out of his hands as he tried to walk to class. They took his glasses, played keep-away then tossed them in the garbage. A group of girls snuck up behind him, muffling their giggles and cut a lock of his hair.

 

It turned out that a lot of the time Jefferson hung out with him, which seemed like it might lift the burden of commitment from her. Except Jefferson was a lot of bark. He railed at people and got in their faces. They ignored him or included him in the harassment.

 

By Wednesday, the day before group, she’d made her decision. She strode toward Archie and Jefferson and helped them pick up books that had just been knocked out of Archie’s hands.

 

“Right.” Emma said, fidgeting, then heaving out a breath. “I’m not much for being social but what if I hung around with you two between classes? That’s when most of the stuff happens, right? Not at lunch. And not on Monday afternoons because I have to go from weights to practice to taekwondo class.”

 

“Are you offering to be our bodyguard?’ Jefferson asked, intrigued and amused.

 

“No, just — three is harder to mess with than one, or two.”

 

Archie shook his head, worried. “Emma, I appreciate it, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I told Jefferson the same thing when he —”

 

Jefferson cut Archie off as if they’d had this particular discussion too many times to repeat it again. “I told you, I’m one of the peasants too.”

 

Archie’s voice rose, insistent and agitated. “Neither of you understand.” He sounded like he might cry. “In this school, hanging out with me is like catching a disease You think they hate you now, but it can get so much worse.”

 

Jefferson opened his mouth to answer but Emma cut him off, feeling a sharp pang because of his concern for them and not himself. “Or maybe it will get better. They’re sorta afraid to touch me ‘cause Mom”s a teacher. So, here’s how this is gonna go. You’re gonna meet me outside school tomorrow,” Emma said gruffly, but squeezed his shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

 

The next day, she made it a point to walk in front of Archie. A silent message that if they wanted him, they’d have to go through her. The one time a popular kid tried to get around her, she moved faster. She swung suddenly in Archie’s direction, as if she needed to tell him something, which blocked him.

 

Jefferson made a point of waving to the bully who glared at them.

 

“Really?” Emma sighed at him. “The idea isn’t to get us all killed.”

 

Emma barely saw Regina until the club meeting on Thursday. Regina didn’t give her a second glance, setting her books and folders on the desk, fingers laced over them. Her posture perfect, head tilted up. She waited for everyone else to arrive.

 

“As a reminder,” Regina said, standing. “Today we will begin a new format. I am presenting, then all of you will share your thoughts on the piece. After that I will issue a dare to Emma, who volunteered to be the first one to take a dare. Then, next week, Emma will present and she will give a dare to...whoever. Any questions? Good.”

 

Archie started to ask something but closed his mouth as Regina moved on.

 

She showed them a picture of a sculpture by George Seurat. There were four benches, two facing one way and two facing the opposite direction. On one bench sat a couple on the verge of talking, but not quite doing so. On the other, all the way at the end, was a figure sitting alone, arms crossed.

 

“This inspired me to think of how people connect to one another. Or” — for the first time in days, Regina turned her eyes to Emma — “refuse to.”

 

In Emma’s stomach, a sinking feeling began.

 

The others shared their thoughts, but Emma didn’t hear them, gut twisting and hands feeling too dry, like the skin might crack.

 

Regina flashed small, satisfied smiles at her through the entire conversation.

 

“Which brings us to the dare,” Regina said. Emma fought to keep a nonchalant pose. “As many of you know, the Winter Formal is coming up in a couple of weeks. My dare is that Emma attend for at least an hour. And that she actually dance for at least half of that time.”

 

###########################################################

**Apple Valley, Ma**

**The Present**

 

  

_“Thank you again for putting this together,” Regina said to Archie, beating Emma to the punch before she could stand again. Regina hugged everyone in turn except Emma. Emma glared at her beer bottle, pretending not to notice her departure._

_“Emma,” Archie said quietly, eyes travelling between her and Regina. “Maybe —”_

_Emma turned hard eyes on him and he stopped._

_She waited five minutes before making an excuse to leave._

_Zelena moved toward her and hugged her. “I may be wasting my breath but after Archie’s reunion, can you try not to be such a stranger?”_

_She gave a nod she didn’t think she meant before breaking away._

 

The next day Emma arrived at Poe’s Leaky Barn with Archie and Jefferson. She assumed they volunteered to pick her up, at least in part, to make sure she actually showed. The get together the night before showed her how right she’d been to avoid being around Regina. They prompted each other to tell too many truths, ones that were now loaded and bitter.

 

For this meeting and the next one, she would do her best to stay away from her and hold her tongue.

 

 

After Emma’s mother died in the fall of her junior year of high school, Jefferson showed them  the barn, which he named “Poe’s Leaky Barn.” Zelena almost immediately shortened his creative label to “PLB”. They had no idea who it actually belonged to, but no one ever bugged them there.

 

Jefferson took off his newsies cap, lay on the top of the picnic table and linked his fingers on stomach.

 

It had always been in the barn. Later, Jefferson added several lawn chairs. They were still there but rusted to death. Emma doubted they’d hold weight.

 

Archie frowned at his cell. “It keeps showing only one bar. I have a client who has been struggling with the loss of an extended family member.”

 

“Hey doc,” Jefferson said. “Lately I’ve been having dreams of a sexual nature involving several people and a shark.” Archie blinked at him. “I’m a switch. The shark is obviously the top. That’s normal, right?”

 

Archie’s cheeks colored slightly. “All this time, Jefferson, and I can never tell when you’re serious.”

 

“You think I’m more of a bottom?”

 

Archie’s blush deepened.

 

“I think you’re wearing a turtleneck in the summer,” Emma said, plucking at it and defending Archie. “Your sanity has always been on thin ice.”

 

Jefferson winked. He took pride in his quirks and those of the others.

 

“Sorry, we’re late.” Zelena entered the barn, Regina behind her. “Ms. Celebrity had a meeting with a producer.”

 

Jefferson sighed. “I swear, if I had known cookies could make you famous, I’d have paid attention when you tried to teach us to make them years ago.”

 

Emma straddled the edge of the picnic bench seat. “Now that we’re all here.” She pushed at Jefferson to get him to give up the tabletop. He jumped down. “Why don’t we get going?”

 

She figured the less time she spent around Regina the better.

 

“My, my so bossy,” Zelena teased. “Isn’t it the president’s job to call us to order?”

 

“Not for years,” Regina said with a chuckle. “As if anyone could control any of you.”

 

“Our very own grand poobah,” Jefferson said. “I always thought we should get you a special hat, Regina. Something with a badge.”

 

“I’ll leave that kind of fashion statement to you.”

 

Jefferson nodded. “Probably for the best.”

 

“We can get started,” Archie said, trying to accommodate everyone. They all settled in as he unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket.

 

 “‘Amor Fati’ by Jane Hirshfield.” He cleared his throat and read,

 

“Little soul,

you have wandered

lost a long time.

 

The woods all dark now,

birded and eyed.

 

Then a light, a cabin, a fire, a door standing open.

 

The fairy tales warn you:

Do not go in,

you who would eat will be eaten.

 

You go in. You quicken.

 

You want to have feet.

You want to have eyes.

You want to have fears.”

 

They listened intently, all of them, falling back into the old habit Mary Margaret instilled in them of being open when one of them presented something.

 

“I don’t know about all of you,” Zelena began with uncharacteristic shyness. “But so much of my life now is about being comfortable. I left the firm but I’m still a divorce attorney. Not because I want to be, but because there’s good money in it. A large part of me hates it. I don’t feel much of anything when I work with my clients. I wanted to have a child by now. I suppose that’s not the most feminist thing to say.”

 

“Your freedom to make the choice is entirely the point of feminism,” Regina said, a gentle offering. The sisters shared a quiet smile.

 

Jefferson scrubbed at his face. “I stopped painting. Nothing in months.” He heaved out a sigh. “Everyone wants the fairytale ending, but all of those kinds of stories have monsters, right? The way it works is that you fight the monsters, and if you win, you get a happy ending. I’m really tired of being lost in a fairy tale that doesn’t have a monster or an ending, just a lot of wandering around.”

 

Archie rubbed a hand up and down his back.

 

That quickly, they were all back in a place they’d reached years ago, opening their hearts to one another.

 

They were all supposed to say something, that was how it worked. Emma scratched at her throat so aggressively, it probably left behind red streaks on her skin.

 

Regina, resting her chin on the thumbs of her linked fingers, stared at Jefferson, brow wrinkling and eyes troubled. “About the cooking show. I’m not entirely certain it’s what I want. As Zelena said, in many ways, it’s the safe path.”

 

“Do you enjoy doing the show?” Archie asked quietly.

 

“I used to. After my first year, several old executives at the station were replaced. The new ones believe in data analysis. They examine the recipes people search for online and what types of cookbooks are selling. They want me to bake" — Regina’s fingers made quotation marks — " whatever targets the right demographic. Two days ago I wanted to try a new cake recipe. I actually found myself searching statistics to try and sell them on it. They strongly encouraged me to go a different direction."

 

Jefferson hummed. “You didn’t tell them to suck your fat one?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “As if I would say such a thing.”

 

“Well, not in those words,” he said. “You’d have to ‘Regina’ it up. But, seriously, why not tell them you’re an amazing baker and you’re who they hired.”

 

“And you’re an excellent artist. It’s not always that simple. This new job opportunity would be as much about production values and chatting with guests as it would be about baking.”

 

Jefferson’s mouth twisted, both disturbed and thoughtful at the revelations of the last few minutes. “Of all of us, I assumed you had things figured out.”

 

Regina shook her head. “No. Never.”

 

“Emma?” Archie said, because all of them had gone but her.

 

“I’m doing okay. I need to keep training. That — that part hasn’t been going all that well, but I just need to buckle down a little more.”

 

They all stared at her. A response to the call to action was never supposed to be so vague or guarded. Or at least it didn’t used to be, even from her. It took her longer than the others to learn to speak from the heart, but she’d gotten there. She just couldn’t now. She played with the ties on her sleeveless hoodie. When she said nothing else, they all reluctantly accepted it. In high school, they would have called her out.

 

“You know what we need?” Zelena asked. “Beer.”

 

Archie’s forehead wrinkled. “But, we all just got —”

 

“Archie,” Jefferson said, louder. “Beer is required.”

 

“Now? Right now?”

 

“I think now is good. Zelena and I can go.” He offered his hand to her. “Shall we?”

 

“One of your better ideas.” She took the hand, and let him pull her toward the barn doors. “Be right back.”

 

Archie waited a few minutes then tried to dial his cell phone. He frowned. "The service is terrible out here. I really should check on my patient.”

 

Regina proffered her phone. "Do you want to borrow my —”

 

"I'm going to duck outside," Archie said, cutting her off.

 

Emma tensed, not wanting to be left alone with her former best friend. She tapped her fingertips against one another. Regina sat for another few seconds then rose, arms crossed over her stomach. They didn't speak. They just stared into nothingness, trying to avoid acknowledging one another existed until the others returned.

 

Being around Regina tore open the stitches of a wound she thought she'd recovered from.

 

She wished Regina would sit down so that she could be the one on her feet. Both of them working off the tension in the room by moving would be too much like sharing something.

 

The many trees around the barn darkened the interior. Emma turned on the flashlight she brought just in case. She placed it, still on, on top of the picnic table. Her fingers traced the number ‘five’ etched into the wood, next to the word ‘flames’.

 

"You carved that," Regina said, coming closer.

 

"I remember." Each of them had also scratched in their names. The same day, years ago, Emma added her mother’s name. It was hard not to stare at it. She swallowed a spiky ball of melancholy. Regina sat across from her and Emma took the opportunity to push to her feet.

 

"Do we really have to sit here in silence?"

 

Emma shrugged, already exhausted by this interaction. "What do you want to talk about?"

 

"Anything.”

 

"So, on your cooking show, named after you, you don’t decide on the recipes? What happened to opening your own bakery?”

 

Regina raised a brow. “What’s really going on with your fighting?” Emma rocked on the balls of her feet, crossing her arms over her chest. Regina sighed. “And we’re back to silence.”

 

Emma toyed with the strings of her hoodie again. “You hate my fighting. So why ask about it?”

 

“I hated the results of the fighting.”

 

“Fucking semantics, Regina.”

 

Emma didn’t mean to all but bring up that day. There were so many reasons why it would be a bad idea to revisit it in any more than a cursory way. She could still, with complete clarity, remember the soft, honest glow in Regina’s eyes as everything they’d ever held back threatened to spill over.

 

“I went to every wrestling match you had after we became friends in high school. You told me that sports made you feel centered. You’re right, if you aren’t fighting anymore, I’m relieved. But what are you doing?””

 

The question made Emma desperate for Archie to come back. Mentally, she checked how long he’d been gone. Too long. Usually she could still her body and mind and just exist between deep breaths, dismissing everything else. Only right now she couldn’t summon any of the calming images that usually helped her.

 

“Emma,” Regina prompted.

 

She remembered that Regina used to call her cocky with a proud smile that sent such a strong surge of warmth cascading into her that she carried it with her for days.

 

“I can count the number of times you’ve called me in the last two years on no hands. If you were concerned then where the fuck were you?” Emma didn’t give her time to answer. “I’m going to find Archie.” She stalked out of the barn, hands in her hoodie pockets, balled into fists.

 

Fucking Regina. She didn’t have the right to see shit no one else could. She lost the privilege to look into Emma’s heart. It hurt that, even after all this time, the person who had deserted her still knew her the best.

 

“Archie,” she called, not seeing or hearing him. “Hey, Arch?” She rounded the barn, checking all sides. The sun would set soon, it beamed down into the leaves, making them seem to shine.She pulled her cell phone from her jacket and called his number.

 

No answer, and she didn’t hear it ring. She tried Zelena.

 

Same thing.

 

Tiny claws of an idea flexed in her mind and she returned to Regina.

 

“I couldn’t find him. Zelena didn’t answer either.”

 

“Jefferson?”

 

Emma called him. Ringing started and eventually went to voicemail. “What the fuck.”

 

Regina tried and, when she fared no better than Emma, stared at her phone as if it had betrayed her. “Zelena insisted on driving me here. Did you carpool with Archie and Jefferson?”

 

Emma closed her eyes in realization. “Yeah, they offered to pick me up.”

 

Regina’s phone, still in her palm began, to vibrate, making her start.

 

“Hi Regina, Emma.” Arche said. From behind him, Jefferson’s and Zelena’s heads popped into view.

 

“Have you figured out you’ve been ditched yet?” Zelena asked.

 

“What the fuck, you guys.” Emma growled, cupping her hand around the back of Regina’s phone so she could see it too.

 

Archie cleared his throat. “The three of us have decided that it’s no longer acceptable for you two not to deal with one another.” He said it a bit woodenly, as if he’d rehearsed the words. “Emma, you’ve been particularly stubborn, and Regina, you’ve been unusually cowardly. We miss you, Emma. We’re family. So, we’ve decided to issue both of you a dare.”

 

“You could both refuse, but then you’d forfeit,” Zelena said. “Which only one of us has ever have done. And you’d be doing it when we’re trying to honor Mrs. Nolan.”

 

“This is ridiculous,” Regina pulled her phone from Emma. “I’m just going to call Lyft and go home.”

 

Emma sucked on her teeth, wanting to hit something. She settled for kicking one of the decrepit lawn chairs. “I’m not doing it.”

 

“We all agreed to a meeting, Emma. Complete with dare,” Archie said reasonably.

 

She charged back to face his image, pointing at him accusingly. “You planned this from the start.”

 

Zelena, Archie and Jefferson, with no signs of guilt, agreed that they had.

 

“You should at least hear the dare before you refuse.” Zelena seemed very pleased with things and Emma guessed this was all her plan. “We dare you both to do one thing that truly scares you. You used to know one another better than anyone. So, Emma will pick the scary thing for you, Regina, and Regina will pick the thing for you, Emma.”

 

Regina sighed, as Emma cursed and struck the chair with her foot again. “So, we’re stranded here until we agree?”

 

“We just thought we’d give you a few minutes to process,” Zelena said pleasantly. “You have a week to complete the dares or forfeit. Why don’t you two chat?”

 

The screen went black.

 

“Those motherfucking assholes.” Emma wanted to take more of her frustration out on the abused chairs, maybe even shot put one into space. “This is bullshit.”

 

Regina paced, head down, hands behind her back. She stopped, staring up into the sky and thinking. “This requires some thought.”

 

“It does?”

 

She rubbed her temple, seeming tired. “What if I agree to the dare?”

 

“I’ll probably think you’re a pushover.”

 

“Because I want to uphold the memory of what brought us together? And honor your mother on her birthday?”

 

“Don’t throw that shit at me.”

 

“I am telling you my reasons. If you are going to say no, it would only be courteous, given the situation, for you to name yours.”

 

Emma couldn’t; the things locked inside her rattled in their cage. She needed to keep them there. “We both complete the dare, then we meet and tell the group. That’s the way it used to work. Fine. If that’s the price to be done with this? Fine.”

 

“When would you like to proceed?”

 

“I have Monday off.”

 

“Usually I work, however, Fridays are currently a rerun and planning day. I think I could convince the studio to switch it to Monday instead. Shall I phone the others and tell them we agree?”

 

“Don’t you want to know what I’m going to pick for you first?” Emma couldn’t wait to see Regina’s face when she told her. The group wasn’t wrong about how well they knew one another. “Remember that time we all went down Widowmaker Hill on skateboards, and you chickened out? That’s my dare.”

 

Regina paled, then thought for a long time, while Emma enjoyed her discomfort. She gathered her composure. “Very well. I — I believe I know what I will ask of you too. Have you ever been back to the arena where you lost that fight?”


	4. Stealth Cookies and Skateboards

**Apple Valley, Ma**

**The Past**

**December 2007**

 

A day before the Winter Formal (and the most awful dare in the history of dares), Emma rushed toward wrestling practice. Walking in ten minutes late, as she now surely would, meant extra helpings of disapproval from the coach.

 

She’d lollygagged in the weight room, then had to grab the keys to her mom’s Volvo. Since it was Monday, she had taekwondo after wrestling. Unlike many other students at school, she didn’t have her own car. On Mondays, Emma took the Volvo and her mom did “teachery things” then caught a ride home with a friend.

 

Not that the coach cared about explanations, especially not from her. He didn’t say much to her nowadays, but his constant scowls did.

 

A few students who hadn’t joined the mass exodus when the bell rang at two o’clock trickled through the hallway. She heard the slap of multiple shoes behind her, someone running somewhere, but thought little of it.

 

The thuds that followed the sounds were weird, but she kept her concentration on getting to wrestling as soon as possible.

 

Until she heard a familiar voice.

 

“You fucking assholes.”

 

Jefferson.

 

She swung back around to see several guys in letterman jackets chuckling at Jefferson. He was sprawled on the floor, half in and half out of the boy’s bathroom. One of the jocks grabbed a trash can from a nearby classroom and poured the contents over him.

 

Not thinking, Emma yelled, “Hey!” Her feet pounded the glossy hallway floor as she ran towards the group.

 

“This isn’t your bathroom, dyke.”

 

Five of them stared her down. In the bathroom behind Jefferson, she could see Archie curled into a ball, drops of blood on the floor near him. She’d missed most of what happened. She hadn’t been there for them. Emma wished she had Regina’s presence of mind and way with words. She didn’t.

 

She glanced up and down the hall, hoping, for once, an adult was around.

 

No such luck.

 

An idea jumped in her mind.

 

In her taekwondo classes, they’d been working on board-breaking for the last few weeks Lately, sessions alternated between that, sparring and practicing forms — a series of sequential moves, kicks and punches. She’d progressed to Songahm 4. Learning each form took discipline, focus and a clear mind. To move up in rank, forms needed to be a perfect mix of technique, proper stances and posture. Or as her teacher said, “they needed to be art of the body”. She practiced often and found they calmed her, helped her with control.

 

She tried to find that state of mind now, the steady rhythm of knowing what your body could do. She took up a stance, raising her fists and then, with smooth follow through, she spun her body and smashed her fist into a locker, making a dent in the front. Absently she realized she’d forgotten to yell, something her teacher always had to remind her to do. She shifted her weight to her back leg, took one step toward the set of lockers across the hall and snapped her heel into the metal again, caving it in as she had the other one.

 

Emma stepped back. “Is that all you guys understand?” She pointed to the dented lockers. Her knuckles were bruised. She didn’t care. “If that’s what you want, we can go there.”

 

In her defiant rage, she shoved one of them. Tension stretched between the members of the small group, all of the jocks seeking guidance from one another on what to do now, their certainty and confidence visibly shaken.

 

“Are you fucking crazy?” One of them asked her.

 

Jefferson, with a broken nose and face smeared with blood, staggered to his feet.

 

“You outnumber me, but it won’t be an easy fight. Is that how we need to do this?” Why tears jumped to her eyes, she had no idea. She’d never been this angry before. Ever. “Is it?”

 

Jefferson moved to stand beside her, while a few of the stunned guys began to disperse.

 

She pushed past those that remained and into the bathroom, crouching down beside Archie. His bruised face continued to fuel her and she growled at the jocks who still — even now — just stood there. “You stay away from me and my friends.”

 

With Jefferson’s help, she got Archie to his feet as fast as she could. She looped his arm around her neck and helped him walk. Her hard stare dared those who were responsible for this to get in her way. Instead, they stepped to the side.

 

She could only think to bring him to her mom. About halfway there though, Archie stopped her.

 

“Wait — where are we going?”

 

“My mom’s still here somewhere.”

 

“Your mom will tell our parents. She means well, but...I don’t know if she can really help.”

 

“It’s not like you can hide this, Arch. Either of you.”

 

“I’ve hidden other things,” Archie said.

 

“Shit,” Emma muttered to herself, disgusted with the entire situation. “I have to tell my mom about this. Not now, but tonight. You have to let me do that.”

 

Archie didn’t object. “There’s another bathroom over there. We missed the bus, but if we could get cleaned up, I can call my mom.”

 

“They jumped us on our way out,” Jefferson said, expression grim, like he wanted to start a war with all of them.

 

Archie brushed his fingers against a large bruise on his jaw and winced. “We’ll give you a ride home, Jefferson. And you too if you need one, Emma.”

 

“No. No, I don’t — look, I have my mom’s car. I’ll drive you guys, okay?”

 

They agreed and ducked into the bathroom. She waited for them, still so furious she couldn’t stop pacing.

 

All three of them were silent in the car as they drove to Archie’s house. When they pulled into the driveway, Archie hesitated, his gentle eyes, one swollen, sought Emma out.

 

“Winter Formal is tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah,” she agreed, not sure what that had to do with anything.

 

“The dare,” he said.

 

“What about it?”

 

Jefferson’s eyes twinkled with the mirth of someone about to offer a great idea that might not be well-received. “Archie and I were talking about you and the dance yesterday, wondering if you’d go through with it.” He let Archie continue the thought.

 

“We thought maybe we could go with you.”

 

“But — I mean, look at you. I’m not even sure I care about the stupid dare anymore.”

 

“I do,” Archie answered quietly. “I care about the club. And you.”

 

His bravery and heart drilled into her and inspired her. She wished it didn’t.

 

The jerk.

 

###################################

 

The rhythm of her breathing and the soles of her shoes against the road grounded her. She had woken before her mother, tossed on sweats and a hoodie, and stretched. At first, as she jogged, she focused on getting her body moving and waking up. She built to a consistent pace, one which made her heartbeat thunder.

 

It gave her time to to let the world fade away and just concentrate on controlling her body and her thoughts; finding calm.

 

When home came into view, she slowed.

 

As she neared her house, she saw a familiar black Mercedes parked on the street. She stopped, curious, only to see Regina Mills setting a tupperware container in front of her front door.

 

A few steps led down from the front porch (barely worthy of the name) to a long walkway that eventually met the sidewalk. Orange hedges of roses, Mom’s garden, lined the front of the house, just under a bay window. A few feet from the street, a large oak tree stood, a guardian with six thick, gnarled limbs. Giving Regina room, Emma leaned against its trunk, waiting for her to turn around.

 

“Mornin',” she said, waving.

 

Regina froze, eyes wide. “I didn’t think you would be…”

 

“I jog every morning except Sunday.”

 

Regina’s mouth twisted in irritation, her plan thwarted by something she couldn’t have known. “I see.”

 

Emma dabbed at the sweat on her brow with her sleeve, nodding toward the container. “So, what’s that?”

 

Regina moved her hands behind her back, as if standing at attention. She stepped to the edge of the porch, looking down on Emma. “I heard that there was an incident with Archie and you. Everyone knows you helped him. I reiterated to my friends, as best I could, that it would be a dire mistake to continue to escalate the situation, given your apparent skills and that you are the daughter on one of the most popular teachers in school. That being said, I have no idea what you were thinking. You should have found an adult or someone with authority. You could have been injured.”

 

Emma loved the way she talked, though her surprise at finding Regina on her doorstep slowed down her ability to process the conversation. “I’m...sorry?” She climbed up till she and Regina were at the same height, though her instincts told her Regina probably wasn’t done admonishing her.

 

“Can we back up to what this is?” Emma’s muscles protested as she bent and picked up the tupperware. Going from a brisk pace to a stop that quickly was making her body stiffen up. She removed the lid and peered inside. “Cookies? There’s a note but all it says is ‘thank you’. No signature. Hang on, were you delivering stealth cookies to me?

 

“They’re a small token.”

 

“They’re token cookies?” Emma asked with dancing lights in her eyes, assuming that her renaming would irritate Regina.

 

Regina huffed out a breath. “They are just cookies. They are a small, mostly meaningless acknowledgment.”

 

“Acknowledgement cookies?”

 

“Will you stop that?” Regina growled. She rubbed her hands together and regained her composure. “I was just trying to — you did a good thing.” Emma finally understood, as much as this hit-and-run situation could be comprehended at six in the morning. “Are they okay? Archie and Jefferson?”

 

“They will be. It’s probably not entirely over. My mom is pissed.”

 

“Doesn't your mother realize that she can’t do anything? Kids are cruel. That’s just the reality.”

 

“That’s probably one of those assumptions about limitations Mom talks about in the club.” Her certainty fanned her pride in her mom. “She talked to the principal and vice-principal for a long time yesterday. Anyway, I wouldn’t bet against her. Especially not when she’s this angry.”

 

Regina’s eyes dropped, avoiding Emma’s. “Both of you fight for lost causes. Just in different ways.”

 

Emma never thought of it that way.

 

She turned away. “I need to get to school.”

 

“Wait,” Emma gestured to the door with her thumb. “Do you want to come in or anything?”

 

“No, thank you.”

 

“Well —”

 

“Are you going to to the Winter Formal?”

 

 Emma struggled to follow Regina’s thoughts for the second or third time in a stretch of about five minutes. “Yeah, probably. That’s the dare, right?”

 

“Alone?”

 

“Archie and Jefferson offered to go with me,” She laughed, a little rueful. “Not entirely sure if that will make things better or worse. I mean, Jefferson especially tends to stand out.”

 

An amused smile softened Regina’s features. “Unlike you who blends into the crowd with all your non-controversial activities.”

 

“I wasn’t trying to cause trouble.”

 

Regina’s brow lifted. “You challenged the patriarchy. Are you under the impression that tends to go well for women?” The cracked door into who Regina could be when not wearing the mantle of her ambitions remained open a little longer. “I’m not saying it’s not admirable. In a way.”

 

Emma shook her head. “I figured there’d be a few weeks of hassle. Then I’d show them what I could do, and they’d get over me being a girl.”

 

“And that fool-proof plan didn’t work?” The words hinted at playfulness without fully committing to it. Emma, chagrined, kicked her foot back against the side of the house. “People don’t just get over their visions of how things should work.” The words were weighty, flavored with bitterness. Regina toyed with the crown pin she wore. “You could quit. If it’s not giving you what you want, then sticking with it is pointless.”

 

Emma made a face. “Keep it simple” ranked up there in her list of “to dos”. But quitting stuff came in pretty high on her list of “don’ts”. She thought about stuff carefully to avoid just this position. “No,” she said. “Not yet anyway.”

 

“Your choice.” Regina motioned to the cookies. “If you wish to share those with Jefferson and Archie, you can. However, I would appreciate you not telling anyone where they came from.”

 

“So they are stealth cookies?”

 

“You’re impossible,” Regina said, shaking her head. Emma spotted laughter in her eyes before she glanced away. “If you do go tonight, then it will be your turn to issue a dare. You should begin thinking about that.”

 

Emma wondered if this was what it was like to be hit by a tornado or some other impossible force of nature — just kinda shell-shocked. “Right.”

 

Before Emma could conceive of what else to say, Regina marched toward her car.

 

###################################

 

The encounter with Regina bolstered her resolve to complete the dare. As for Jefferson and Archie’s offer, Emma took some more convincing, but didn’t have a good reason to face the whole thing alone. Being a loner became habit early in life, as her father’s military service forced them to move around a lot. Dad died several years ago, though, and her mom settled them in Apple Valley pretty soon after. Enough time to change, if she wanted to.

 

The evening of the Winter Formal, her mother, delighted her daughter was going to any social occasion, regardless of the reason, offered to help her with makeup and jewelry. Emma, already anxious, firmly refused.

 

Emma allowed her to take only a handful of photos; a few inside and in front of the old oak tree, before insisting she needed to go. Her mom knew it was all because of a dare. Yet she acted like Emma chose this. On one side of her, the anger at her mother’s lack of “getting her” beat at her insides. On the other, guilt pluck at her over her inability to better deal with the situation, to find a way to make peace between them.

 

Grabbing the keys from the dish near the door, she muttered that she had to pick up the guys, while berating herself for not allowed her mom to take more pictures. It just felt too attached to their differences. Like giving in, even with something reasonable, meant losing something.

 

Her mom pursued her though, calling her. “Hey.” She smiled, but Emma could see wounded feelings behind the cheerfulness. “So listen, I know that you’re basically being forced to do this, but, try and have a good time?”

 

Regret, broken into small, hard pieces tumbled in her stomach. She knew that mothers dreamed of things like homecoming and prom, seeing their daughters off with their handsome dates. Helping with makeup and hair. Gushing over their kids’ slow steps toward adulthood. This one dance would likely be her mom’s only chance to do any of that.

 

She just didn’t want to pretend.

 

Maybe she should have let the guys pick her up instead of the other way around. Parents, she believed, had this mental checklist of what the perfect child would be like and do. She hoped, deep down, her mother would come up with a new set of measurements. Emma would never rank very high on the “perfect daughter” one.

 

She could try saying, “Mom, I love you. but I can’t be…”

 

But it meant admitting her own failings. It probably would lead to a fight, because she didn’t think her mother would believe her. Maybe both of them were battling for who would be listened to first. Emma didn’t know if it mattered, but couldn’t entirely dismiss that it might.

 

She didn’t want that struggle to be everything.

 

She opened the car door and inched back toward her mom, kissing her cheek. “Love you, Mom.”

 

“I love you too, Emma.”

 

#############################################

 

Archie introduced Emma to his over-friendly and way-too-excited-to-meet-her parents. Jefferson already knew them, well enough for them to ask about his art, which surprised her. In strong contrast, Jefferson had met her outside his house, alone, in his usual clothes, both of his eyes blackened from his broken nose. He changed at Archie’s house, including a black eye mask to hide the remnants of the bullying from the day before.

 

Archie’s parents were wide-eyed when they saw Jefferson, but didn’t comment, and it didn’t stop them taking what felt like hundreds of pictures. Her standing between Archie and Jefferson, Archie pinning on the corsage he’d gotten for her, them standing in front of a row of shrubs.  Inside the house. Outside the house. By the car.

 

Archie’s face carried bruises too and at times he rubbed at his ribs and grimaced. Emma wondered what, if anything, he’d told his parents. She knew her mother had spoken with them a few times.

 

With Archie’s parents finally waving goodbye to them in the rearview mirror, they were on their way.

 

Emma stood on the steps of the high school, staring up at a banner that read “Winter Formal" in the school’s gold and maroon colors. She wore a leather jacket over a cropped thin chemise under a see-through sweater with floral embroidery. Under the hint of bare midriff, a matching skirt flowed straight down, just touching her ankles.

 

Her hand rested on the handrail leading up the stairs towards the front doors. A few kids drifted past them, laughing, giving her a second glance and heading in.

 

The pounding music inside created an itching sensation in her rib cage that wouldn’t go away no matter how much she scratched. Fuck this. She would just fail the challenge. She’d wanted to aid Regina in the new group direction, but she didn’t know this would be the cost.

 

When she’d volunteered for the dare, she’d thought it would be something meaningless and stupid. Nope, Regina went for a full-on body slam and left Emma wheezing on the mat.

 

“Emma,” Archie said and squeezed her shoulder. A genuine supportive smile stretched over his mouth. “We’re with you. Whenever you’re ready.”

 

He wore a suit, but she really needed to try and talk him out of wearing bowties one day. His curly hair was combed back and held it place by some kind of extra strength mousse. Jefferson stood smirking in a red velvet jacket (a smoking jacket, Emma thought it was called), white shirt and white pants. And, of course, the black mask.

 

Her gut settled as she looked them over. They’d come here for her. Jefferson began sliding down the metal banister of the stairs and she decided maybe going in would be good before he killed himself. They went in as a unit. The music sucked, pop stuff that Archie bobbed his head to but Emma couldn’t stand and Jefferson made faces at.

 

“Shall we?” Jefferson said and pointed to the area of the gym being used as a dance floor.

 

Emma took in a deep breath and led them through the group of tuxedos and cocktail dresses. Mr. “No Hair” football-guy saw them and got the others in his group to look their way. They whispered to one another and laughed.

 

Regina stood among them. She frowned, glancing between her friends and the small Arts into Action group. Regina wore a strapless gold dress comprised of a beaded bodice that billowed into a silk skirt hanging just above her knees. She’d put her hair up, exposing bare skin from her neck to her shoulders and the swell of her breasts.

 

It stripped Emma down, removed her blustering and minimizing, and left her heart twisting with need. She didn’t know what to do with the mix of fascination and curiosity building so insistently inside her. She didn’t have a frame of reference for the connection between them; the way it dared her to insane acts of courage. Emma wanted to cross the room, take her hand and whisper in her ear how beautiful she looked.

 

In short, it made her think some of the stupidest thoughts she’d ever had.

 

Regina, still noticing the jeers of her friends, pressed her mouth in a solemn apologetic expression. Emma rolled her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug, granting her absolution. At least for tonight.

 

In answer, Regina smiled at her. A full curl of her lips, a flash of teeth, intimate approval shining in her eyes. A heartbeat later, without giving Emma a chance to respond, she turned away, twining her arms around the neck of the football player beside her.

 

Yeah, Emma said to herself, whatever her feelings, they were full-on stupid.

 

She felt an arm press heavily on her shoulder. Jefferson. “You have it so, so bad,” he said, loud enough only for her to hear. She elbowed him in the stomach.

 

Archie checked his watch. “Well, one hour is the dare. Hands in.” It was corny as hell, but Archie wore this determined look, so they humored him.

 

Emma stayed for an hour and a half as a matter of pride. Regina might or might not be ignoring her, but she wanted to show she’d completed the dare and then some.

 

On their way out, a very loud, slurring Zelena screamed at one of the other popular girls. The trio watched, with most of the rest of the school, as Zelena threw a punch at her nemesis. Two jocks dragged her back. She kissed one of them, until the principal and several teachers surrounded her and pulled her toward the hallway.

 

Jefferson, Archie and Emma kept going and wound up in the woods near school. Jefferson shook a baggie of joints at them. To celebrate, he said.

 

They eventually went to Archie’s house. They acted as sober as possible when Archie greeted his parents, who peppered them with questions about their night. They escaped to a den where there were two couches and an entire wall unit dedicated to movies. Archie selected Carrie. In their still-buzzed state, parts of the movie struck them all as uproariously funny.

 

It didn’t help when Jefferson made a puppet of one of his socks and imitated Regina. “Emma, you mindless barbarian, thou shalt go thusly to the ball, surrounded by frogs dressed like princes.”

 

Emma made appropriate “ribbit” sounds, relaxed and set free after completing her grueling task that evening.

 

“And in that pit of mousse and makeup and rented tuxes you will find out both who you are and who you could be.” He started as Regina and kind of ended up sounding a bit like Nixon.

 

“Rrrriiiiibbbbbeeeettt.”

 

Emma and Jefferson stared at Archie in surprise and then dissolved into laughter again.

 

Archie fell asleep, curled into a fetal position on the couch. Emma put in another movie, something that seemed like a comedy, and stretched out on the second couch. Jefferson sat by Archie’s feet and watched with her.

 

Afterward, she and Jefferson left Archie sleeping and decided to head home. Jefferson covered him with a blanket before they left.

 

“So you and Archie have been hanging out?” Emma said when they got in her mother’s car, remembering that Archie’s parents were pretty familiar with him.

 

“It’s a new thing. Last few weeks.” Jefferson lolled his head back against the headrest and sighed. “Archie’s real.”

 

“Real?”

 

Jefferson played with the door handle a few times before his mouth twisted wryly. “My family used to take road trips every summer. One summer on the way home, there was a storm. A whole bunch of cars were involved in an accident. My little sister…didn’t make it. Everyone else did.” He breathed in and out, a ragged sound. “After that, Dad drank. He’s able to hold down a job, so Mom kind of pretends he doesn’t. They aren’t in love anymore, but they smile and pretend they are. They have this stupid, small life together. It’s fake. All of it. Most people are just totally full of shit. But Archie...” He gave a shook his head, fondness softening his features.

He cleared his throat and, for one of the first times ever, he seemed uncomfortable. “I’m just trying to look out for him.”

 

He turned toward her. “You know, before you saved us the other day, he was already talking about trying to help you with the Winter Formal.”

 

Emma thought about that as she started the car, and they drove the rest of the way in silence. “We’ll both look after him,” she said when she pulled into Jefferson’s driveway.

 

He grinned at her, appreciative...honest. “Aces.”

 

“Um, the thing with Regina? She pushes me somehow, but I don’t mind it. I mean, I kinda like it. Her. It’s really hard to explain. I don’t know if it’s just her or...I don’t know what it means.” His expression remained free of judgment.” She sighed. “Is it obvious?”

 

“Sorta. With you two — sometimes it’s normal, but then sometimes there’s this thing. And it’s like...a really good television show.” His brows waggled playfully. “Caliente.” He pushed open the door (probably sensing she was considering hitting him) and paused. “By the way, what are you going to do to get even with her?” Emma’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “It’s your dare next.”

 

“Right.”

 

“Let me know if you need any ideas. Personally? I think we should make her walk down the halls of school clucking like a chicken.”

 

She drove home, creeping in as quietly as she could. In her room, Regina’s tupperware container sat on her bed. She hadn’t known what to do with it since Regina wanted the cookies to be a big secret. The Winter Formal, and the preparations for it, distracted her the entire day. Her stomach danced happily at the idea of snacking though, so she peeled it open.

 

When she bit into one, she discovered two layers: the top, smooth, soft and a little tart, over a harder, sweeter crust.

 

Jesus. She closed her eyes and took another bite and chewed extra slow. Her tongue celebrated, with balloons and firecrackers. She must have had an experience like this before, where food became more than food. She couldn’t remember it though.

 

These were good. More than good; a kind of perfection. She needed to share these with her mom and Archie, Jefferson too. If she could keep herself from consuming all of them.

 

After eating six, she put the container in a drawer across the room, hoping that not seeing them would return some of her self-control.

 

She lay down, wide awake, still radiating joy, and wound up from her unexpected discovery.

 

She closed her eyes and willed herself to relax, to picture something that might center her. The image of Regina in that dress jutted forward. She didn’t think it would help her sleep, but she couldn’t stop herself from following the meandering path it unlocked.

 

She erased everyone from the scene except them.

 

She asked Regina to dance and she said yes.

 

They held one another, barely moving, surprised at the wonder of being close.

 

And she pretended that she led Regina here to her room, after. She helped Regina unzip the back of her dress. Regina lay back on her bed waiting for her. Emma braced herself above her, soothing Regina’s nerves by promising to take care of her.

 

She whispered the request for Regina to talk to her, to keep telling her things.

 

For the first time while thinking of Regina, her hand crept between her legs and she indulged her passions.

 

##########################################

 

Zelena greeted Emma at the next meeting with a large, bright smile. “Today’s the day,” she all but sang and took her chair. Regina sat next to her with no expression at all.

 

Emma’s art piece was the song “Come as you are” by Nirvana. She played the whole thing through, then explained to the others why she picked it. “The title is ironic. No one really wants you to come as you are. I just think, it’s good that the song calls that out. I mean, I get why the guys on the wrestling team don’t want anything to change. They know the deal right now. And if they shake that up, they don’t know what will happen.” She breathed in and out slowly. It was the first time she’d ever really spoken in front of them. “They have what they want already. So, if things change they might lose something they want. They protect their territory and what they think is theirs. It makes sense, but that doesn’t make it right.”

 

Emma didn’t know if she had more to say. She hadn’t planned any of what she’d already told them. She saw, out of the corner of her eye, her mom stand and move in front of her desk. The reminder that her mom was listening stopped her.

 

Jefferson shook his head, his agitated voice storming into the quiet. “If most people got their way, we’d have one type of music and art and...everything.” He propped his boots up on the desk across from him. “It would all be cookie-cutter bullshit that sounds like Muzak. People think they want the same old, same old, but then half the stuff we think of as exceptional wouldn't exist. I mean, they wanted to ban rock n’ roll at first. ”

 

Mary Margaret walked by him, pushed his feet down and said, a fond twinkle in her eyes. “Amen and Hallelujah.”

 

Zelena got into the topic. “They banned Are You There, God, It’s Me, Margaret because it had girls talking about periods.”

 

They all offered other examples for a few minutes until they began to run out of steam. Zelena leaned back, eyeing her sister then sat up, watching Emma expectantly.

 

“You get to dare someone,” Regina said, voice tight and soft.

 

“I dare Archie,” Emma said. They all, especially Regina, turned bulging, startled eyes on her.

 

She ignored them. “Archie, I want you to write a letter about some of the bullying — no names or anything. Maybe try and get it published in the school paper. Maybe anonymously.”

 

Zelena groaned in frustration. “You’re really challenging Archie? After what she did?”

 

Archie nodded, and she swore his face showed approval. “I accept.”

 

Regina’s features were now guarded and unreadable, but she said, “As the newspaper editor, Archie, I can make sure it’s published.”

 

################################################

 

On Monday, as she passed by the Home Economics room, a hand seized her and yanked her inside. Classes taught in the room were called “Nutrition and Family Studies” nowadays. However, they’d never bothered to change the placard in front of the room.

 

Closing the classroom door, Regina demanded, “Tell me what you are planning.”

 

“What the hell —”

 

“You didn’t get your revenge on me when you could have, so — are you planning to do it some other way?”

 

“You couldn’t have talked to me in the hall like a normal person?”

 

“Surely you realize that I was angry after our conversation about Archie, and I picked something I knew would be particularly painful for you. Why would you let me off the hook?” Regina set her hands on her hips. “What is it you want?”

 

Emma blinked at her. “What? Nothing.”

 

“I find that hard to believe.”

 

Emma squinted at her. “Wait, did you want me to dare you back?”

 

“Of course not,” Regina said in a way that made Emma feel like she’d called her an idiot. “However, most people would have. So either you’re after a favor of some kind, or you’re terribly odd.”

 

“Me? You just kidnapped me into the Home Ec room.”

 

“I needed to have what I assumed would be an in-depth conversation with you.”

 

“And you couldn’t do it in the hall because your friends would want to know why, and you’re afraid of what they think.”

 

Regina bristled. “It’s not fear. It’s choices. I have a plan. For example, next year when I’m a senior, I will start taking college courses. Then when I’m accepted to Harvard, I can get my bachelor’s degree in three years instead of four.” She jutted her chin up, daring Emma to criticize her. “While I am here I’ve ensured I am exactly who I need to be.”

 

“Besides yourself?”

 

Regina frowned, expression growing stormy. Her eyes tinted with anger, about to launch an attack.

 

Emma made a “time out” motion. “Wait, can I say something? I was thinking I might slip you a note, but then I thought maybe I should tell you to your face. But then, I wasn’t sure you’d want to talk about it so I didn’t know if that was a good idea either.”

 

“Are you aware you have yet to complete an actual thought?”

 

“The cookies you gave me were fucking amazing.”

 

Regina blinked, all of her pretenses collapsing to the floor. “I...see.”

 

“Seriously,” Emma said, wanting to drive it home, needing to make Regina understand. “Regina? Seriously.” She waited until a shy, surprised smile rose on Regina’s lips. “I shared them with my mom and Archie and Jefferson. They all thought the same thing. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell them where I got them.”

 

Regina, she of many words, didn’t seem to know what to say. “Well,” she shifted, “you are welcome. I haven’t shared my baking with many people.”

 

“Why the hell not?”

 

“It’s just a hobby. It’s not important.”

 

Emma wanted to argue that point, but didn’t know how and didn’t think it would be welcome.

 

Regina, mostly recovered, tilted her head, measuring Emma. “You truly aren’t going to seek reprisals for the dare?”

 

“I agreed to the dare. Why would I want revenge on you?.”

 

Neither of them spoke for a few moments.

 

“When you tried out for the wrestling team, weren’t you afraid of being ostracized?”

 

The sudden topic change made Emma’s head careen a little. “I just thought it would need an adjustment period. For me and the team. Though, I guess I’m mostly used to keeping to myself anyway.”

 

“Does your mother approve of you joining?”

 

“She...thinks that sports ask a lot and tend to be kinda merciless about how much. She’d rather me spend my time on other things. But,” Emma shrugged. “I’m challenging norms, so in her eyes, I’m doing some good at least.”

 

But yours isn’t entirely in favor, and you’re doing it anyway? ” The questions held an intensity, an interrogation component that made Emma falter. “My mother and I discuss my future and what’s necessary to achieve my goals regularly.

 

 “Um, that’s not really how me and my mom work.”

 

“And your father? He must have an opinion?”

 

Emma stiffened. “Dad died a few years ago.”

 

Regina didn’t give the usual apology and empathetic look. She only nodded. “My father died when I was young. Then when I was nine, Zelena came to live with us.”

 

“My dad was in the service. He was shot when his platoon took an enemy compound.” She said it, even now, in the flat way the two soldiers did when they delivered the news. “Before we came here, because of Dad’s job, we moved around a lot. Then, after Dad died,  Mom decided it was time we stayed in one place and had a home.”

 

“I’ve been here since I was three. Before that, Boston. My mother always wanted a house on Beacon Hill, where many of the older families of Boston live. She compromised because, for the same amount of money, she could buy a house here that was twice the size of anything on Beacon Hill. I doubt she’s truly let it go, however.”

 

Regina straightened and a door slammed shut between them, Regina consciously becoming distant and less approachable. “Jefferson ribbitted at me earlier. Do you have any idea why?”

 

“Nope,” Emma said, straight-faced. “Not a clue.”

 

Regina went to the door, but stopped before exiting. “Emma? About the wrestling team? You can’t just be better than they are. It behooves them to believe that whatever success you have isn’t relevant.” Emma tried not to smirk at the word “behooves”. “Under it all, most people are looking to gain things from those around them.”

 

“Jesus. You’re little miss sunshine.”

 

She scowled at Emma over her shoulder. “I’m practical. You need to give them a direct reason why accepting you benefits them.”

 

“Like?”

 

“I don’t know. I’ll consider it.”

 

A few days later, Emma found a photocopy of a newspaper article about a college wrestling team in her locker. The question “Have you ever heard of a single leg half-nelson?” was written in neat letters under it.

 

 

###########################################

**Apple Valley, Ma**

**The Present**

 

 

_Emma couldn’t; the things locked inside her rattled in their cage. She needed to keep them there. “We both complete the dare, then we meet and tell the group. That’s the way it used to work. Fine. If that’s the price to be done with this? Fine.”_

_“When would you like to proceed?”_

_“I have Monday off.”_

_“Usually I work, however, Fridays are currently a rerun and planning day. I think I could convince the studio to switch it to Monday instead. Shall I phone the others and tell them we agree?”_

_“Don’t you want to know what I’m going to pick for you first?” Emma couldn’t wait to see Regina’s face when she told her. The group wasn’t wrong about how well they knew one another. “Remember that time we all went down Widowmaker Hill on skateboards, and you chickened out? That’s my dare.”_

_Regina paled, then thought for a long time, while Emma enjoyed her discomfort. She gathered her composure. “Very well. I — I believe I know what I will ask of you too. Have you ever been back to the arena where you lost that fight?”_

 

 

Archie and Jefferson took her home after Regina called and let them know they accepted their ridiculous plan. Regina and Emma agreed to meet early Monday morning. Going down Widowmaker Hill at night would be crazy.

 

Emma insisted on picking Regina up, hoping for and receiving a troubled gasp when Regina saw that their mode of transportation would be a motorcycle. She handed her a helmet.

 

Regina stared at it, steeling herself. Emma straddled the bike and waited. Regina took her time fastening the chin strap, eyes still large and her expression strained. A pang hit Emma’s chest. There was a time when she’d have seriously considered punching anyone who scared Regina.

 

Now, pettily, Emma made her feel that way on purpose.

 

Regina climbed on behind her and tentatively placed her hands on Emma’s hips. Emma’s hands twitched against the handlebars. She could smell a delicate fresh-fruit scent, something apple-y. Regina’s soft curves brushed her back. She hadn’t been this close to Regina in two years, and it — it made her ache as sharply as it ever had.

 

The engine of the motorcycle vibrated underneath them.

 

Emma shifted in her seat, resisting the urge to lean back into Regina.

 

The memories of the way things used to be flickered in her mind: shared smiles, a sense of belonging and the desire to never lose one another. With an inner growl at herself to stop being stupid, she pulled out of the parking lot.

 

#####################

 

Years ago, the city planners of Apple Valley, Massachusetts, decided that the upper echelon of the community should be on a hill overlooking the rest of the city. Nature did not offer such a mountain or a valley, so one was made.

 

The street to “The Mount” ascended quickly and looped awkwardly several times before reaching the subdivision above. Of the Five Flames, only Regina and Zelena lived up there.

 

The steep road, after many children used all means of wheeled transportation (primarily skateboards and bikes) to dare death by starting at the top and going as quickly as they could toward the bottom, became known as Widowmaker Hill.

 

No one had ever really died on it. Every once in a while though, a kid broke an arm or a leg. The Five Flames, after coming up with that name for themselves, decided to make their bonding official by each of them in turn riding a skateboard down the hill.

 

Except Regina, who called and insisted she had other obligations.

 

At the moment, Regina clutched a skateboard to her chest and looked forlornly at the hill.  Emma straddled her motorcycle, in her usual hoodie and jeans attire, watching. It was early morning, to avoid most of the cars that might be frequenting the streets.

 

“You can forfeit,” Emma said, receiving a glare over Regina’s shoulder for her efforts.

 

Regina’s features locked in place, a result of tight control. Her face grew pale. “Enjoying yourself?”

 

“A little.”

 

“I suppose that’s fair. Though, this is hardly an adequate dare,” she said. “It’s not comparable to the one I gave you.”

 

“Wait, are you criticizing my daring skills?”

 

“I simply wonder whether this exchange is equitable. There’s a whole litany of things I am afraid of but should be doing.” She spoke quickly, as if letting off billowing steam. “Like work. I escaped my mother’s control then allowed myself to become ensnared in her net again. When she procured the interview for me at the morning show, you warned me to be careful about working for a subsidiary of her company because it was too close to working for her. Now she’s used her position and leverage to garner the opportunity on that national cooking channel for me. She’s still molding me. She just adjusted her tactics.”

 

Emma didn’t answer, but she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Putting them in her pockets didn’t feel right. Neither did leaving them at her sides or drumming them against her thighs. Emma wanted to defend Regina from her implied self-criticisms, or at least soothe Regina’s rapid, machine-gun display of nerves.

 

Regina shook her head and paced, still holding the skateboard close. “The Arts into Action meeting and being around you just has me thinking. Also, I am criticizing this dare. It’s ludicrous, and it would have prohibited back in high school according to our rules.”

 

“Well, we all did it. After we started meeting at PLB. Except you.”

 

“Thank you so much for that reminder.”

 

Emma couldn’t help it, she still got a kick out of Regina’s feistiness. She also didn’t know how to watch Regina struggle anymore. “Couple things. You can sit down on the board if you want. That's how Archie did it back in the day.” She gently pried the board from Regina’s hands. “Also, there’s a Target down the road. What if I get a skateboard, too?”

 

Regina’s attention jerked towards her, away from the collision-related disasters in her mind. “Why?”

 

“Sometimes it’s easier to do something when you’re not doing it solo, right? If you watch me go first and see that I survive, maybe it will feel less scary.”

 

“No, I mean, why would you do that for me? Given everything?”

 

“Well, it kinda looks like we’ll be here for the next decade if I don’t do something.” She warned herself to leave the flip words where they fell and not say anything else. Regina watched her, knowing her too well, whittling at her. Agitated, Emma hurled some of the pretenses away. “You’ve never forfeited. Jefferson was the only one who did. You really think I’d ever want you to fail at anything?”

 

Pain and relief mingled in Regina’s gaze. “Thank you, Emma.”

 

Emma shrugged, feigning lightness again. “You know, I should have dared you to go down the hill wearing a giant chef’s hat. We could have made a video. Probably would have gone viral.”

 

She expected Regina to free her from that carving stare. She didn’t. “For what it’s worth, I miss you,” Regina said. It slammed into Emma. It battered her chest. She braced herself against it and dropped her eyes to the ground. “You don’t...you don’t have to say it back. I recognize that this is my fault. It just seemed relevant.”

 

Regina shook her head, dismissing her momentary vulnerability. “I truly appreciate the offer, Emma, however, this is my dare, not yours.” She set her foot on the flat of the board. “How does this work? You said I could sit?”

 

“Well, yeah, are you sure you don’t want my help?”

 

“You mean, do I want you to reassure me this can be done by performing the dare first? No. What do I do?”

 

“Well, you sit down. I’ll give you a little push to get you started. Then you just hold on. It’ll be fine.”

 

Emma didn’t mean to make her voice quiet and coaxing. It called to an old closeness and so many nights they’d spent sharing their secrets. The past wrapped around one part of her like a blanket on a cold night, and the other side of her felt the chill more acutely.

 

Regina set the skateboard down and sat on the flat, narrow plastic. “Like this?”

 

“Bring your knees up, put heels at the front of the board. Hang on to the sides.” Emma said, basing her instructions on what she remembered Archie doing.

 

“Very well,” Regina said, grim.

 

“You’ll be okay. It’s not that big a deal.” Emma found her heartbeat carrying it’s own anxiety about this. It really was pretty stupid. “Wait, hang on.”  For the second time that morning, Emma retrieved the passenger helmet from her motorcycle and handed it to Regina. “Here, put this on.”

 

“This does not reassure me, Emma.”

 

“It’s just to make you look the part. That’s all.”  Emma hoped the lie sounded at all convincing.

 

“How you doing?” Regina didn’t answer. “You ready?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Let’s just get this over with.”

 

“Okay. Okay, here we go.” Emma crouched low, hands on the back of the board and gave a firm push.

 

It wasn’t too bad at first — she could see Regina slowly picking up speed as she curved around the first loop.The orange and black polyurethane wheels scraped against the ground, the sound growing in volume as they spun faster. Now she regretted not suggesting that Regina get a larger, wider board.

 

The growing awareness of how stupid this was made Emma’s entire body tingle. She stepped outside herself, as if she couldn’t bear to watch it all directly.

 

By the time Regina came to the top of the long, steep stretch of road, the wind and the wheels in concert made a sound that reminded Emma of a plane starting liftoff.

 

Regina cruised onward , a small plateau making her body lurch before she continued on.

 

Holy shit, Emma thought, a flush of pride warming her.

 

When they had done this years ago, Zelena had bailed first, just before that point. Jefferson, not long after, narrowly avoided an old man walking his dog and tumbled into the grass.

 

 “You got it, Regina!”

 

Regina, focused, didn’t acknowledge her. Her chin lowered, the top of her head absorbing the wind.

 

She came around the final curve, and Emma cheered something much more nonsensical.

 

Just ahead, in the last thirty feet of road, was another straightaway and a bump in the asphalt; it was where Emma herself had quit back then. She moved closer to the edge of the hill so she could keep Regina in her sights.

 

Regina hit the point where the street leveled briefly before dipping straight down.

 

Then came the hop.

 

One of Regina’s feet flew forward off the front lip of the board. The skateboard shifted wildly, clattering, then spun side over side. Regina skidded over the ground, then tumbled hard and fast.

 

“Regina!” Emma broke into a run.

 


	5. Letterman Jackets and Half-Nelsons

**Apple Valley, Ma**

**The Past**

**December 2007**

 

Emma stared at the picture of the single leg half-nelson for the twentieth time in three days. The few times she saw Regina in the halls, Regina raised her brows at Emma, in a “well” question. Emma shrugged, which only made the queen of the school roll her eyes in exasperation.

 

“Why not?” Regina said as they walked into Arts into Action that week.

 

“I’m thinking about it.”

 

Regina snorted and shook her head, stalking to her usual desk.

 

Jefferson and Archie caught the end of the exchange and joined Emma. The three of them tended to cluster together now.

 

“She seems displeased,” Jefferson said.

 

“What did you do, Emma?” Archie asked.

 

“Who says I did anything? She’s just...Regina.”

 

By the end of the day on Thursday, a second note peeked from her locker. When she opened it, she found a quote written in familiar precise writing. "If you really want to do something, you'll find a way. If you don't, you'll find an excuse." - Jim Rohn

 

By Friday, the next slip of paper from Regina prodded with the subtlety of a chainsaw. “Stop wearing your wishbone where your backbone ought to be.” - Elizabeth Gilbert

 

On Monday, Emma sent her own message back, in all caps, “I’M THINKING.” - EMMA NOLAN

 

#####################################

 

On the following Wednesday, Emma came home to find her mother already there. A little unusual, as her mom usually stayed a couple hours after classes. Sometimes helping students, sometimes volunteering for different charity drives.

 

Her mother’s broad smile greeted her from the kitchen. She stirred something that smelled like pasta sauce in the largest pot they had. “I’ve invited a couple of members of the school board over. They want to hear about your experiences on the wrestling team. By law, no team is supposed to deny anyone playing due to gender, color, creed or national origins.” She sounded so cheery. Every word made pressure built in Emma’s head. “The two people coming over are gravely concerned that Abigail Adams High might be breaking the law.”

 

Emma couldn’t hear anymore, she raised both her hands as if ready to push the tumble of information away from her. “Mom, stop.”

 

Mary Margaret left her hand on the spoon but stopped stirring, brows drawing together in confusion.

 

Emma shook her head inwardly. She didn’t understand how her mother could know so little about her, why she didn’t know Emma would hate the idea of inviting strangers into the situation, or making it bigger than it already was.

 

“I don't want — I'm just gonna quit the team.”

 

“What? You can't quit. This is an important fight. You could make a real difference.”

 

Her mother still didn’t get it. “I don't want to make a difference,”

 

‘Emma.”

 

Emma slapped her hand on the countertop, surprising both of them. “No, this isn't about you.” She couldn’t stop her voice from rising. “You never listen to me.”

 

Her mother didn’t retreat, her own anger burning. “You never tell me anything. I'm lucky if I get the occasional grunt from you.”

 

“Because you don’t want me to be who I am. You just care who you want me to be.”

 

“That’s not true.” Mary Margaret approached, tilting her head up. Her mother's features and build were small. Some of the football players and basketball players mom taught were giants compared to her. It didn’t matter. The fury in her eyes packed a wallop.

 

“I want you to have the best possible life and the tools you need to have that life,” she said. “Part of that is fighting for what you really want and being able to work the system when you need to.”

 

It made sense as her mom so often did. It only frustrated Emma more, because against such a logical position, her arguments fled, words escaping her.

 

Emma shook her head. “I won’t be here when those people get here. I’m going to go to the library or something. I’ll be back in a few hours.” She strode for the door without waiting for a response.

 

She walked the path she usually ran. One mile, then two, until her anger burned away.

 

############################

 

Before entering practice the next day, she paced in the girl’s changing room for a good twenty minutes. Some of the cheerleaders mocked her, but she ignored them. She stopped only when it was five past.

 

She squared her shoulders and entered the gym though the two main doors. The team had already started drilling.

 

“Nice you could join us, Nolan,” The coach said.

 

“Sorry, coach,” she said, heart flip-flopping like a fish in her chest. She could feel her toes sweating in her sneakers, which was weird.

 

“Um, hey,” she greeted the wrestler in her weight class. He wasn’t one of the worst guys on the team, though he hadn’t forgiven her for beating him earlier in the year. “Can I show you something?”

 

He huffed at her. “Like?”

 

“Ever hear of a one leg half-nelson?”

 

They practiced it together a couple times. The coach saw them when her partner was doing the move and asked him about it. “It was Emma’s idea.”

 

The coach crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s sloppy. Technique is all wrong.” Then he blew his whistle. “Get over here and huddle up, “ he told the team. “Okay, Nolan, let’s go through it slowly. Never know when something different might come in useful.”

 

The next day Emma found a “Home Ec after school” note in her locker.

 

When she entered the classroom and closed the door, Regina sprung up from behind the row of three ovens. She jogged to Emma and squeezed both of her shoulders.

 

“I heard what you did. Some of my friends mentioned ‘Nolan showed us a move’ in that really idiotic guy way. So, it worked?”

 

“Kinda. The coach talked to me after class. The guy in my weight class is a senior. Coach said that maybe he’ll let me wrestle for him a couple times when it’s against teams we’ll probably beat anyway. He stressed the ‘maybe’.”

 

A lid pushed down over Regina’s excitement, as if it being free in the first place was an unacceptable lapse. Regina withdrew her hands, placing them behind her back in that “standing at attention” pose she often struck.

 

”Well, I think that’s a significant turn of events. I’m pleased.”

 

“Wait, did this suddenly become your victory and not mine?”

 

A tiny smirk was the reply. “It can be both, can it not? I prepared something as a congratulations.”

 

Like Pavlov’s dog’s, Emma’s mouth watered. “Like a food something?”

 

With deep satisfaction in her expression, Regina walked to the back row of ovens. Emma followed and Regina presented her with a round tupperware container.

 

“It’s a marble loaf cake with a light glaze. I haven’t made it before. It’s very simple. I would have preferred to bake something that let me play with frosting technique but that would require a lot more time. It’s not easy for me to gain access to bake anything but I cultivated a friendship with the Home Ec teacher.”

 

“Access what? An oven?”

 

Regina bore her eyes into Emma in agitation at her slowness. “Baking is not a pursuit my mother would understand spending time on. There’s a person I am meant to be. Making cookies and cakes are what housewives and homemakers do. I am meant to strive for more, much more. She would be disappointed that I am devoting time to it. I am not suggesting that I don’t agree with her overall, but...I enjoy experimenting with recipes.”

 

“Well, I’d run over broken glass for more of your cookies,” Emma kept her teasing gentle, hoping to reassure Regina that she could be trusted. “So, the important question now is: Do you have a fork?”

 

Grinning, Regina dipped her hand into a bin nearby and held up a plastic fork. The smile reminded her of the one at the Winter Formal, unfettered by self-regulation and coming from a place inside her she rarely let others see.

 

“Yeah, we’re going to need two of those.” Emma snatched the fork and retreated behind the ovens. Regina’s shoes tapped their way over the linenolum as she followed, but hovered uncertainly.

 

Emma patted the place on the ground beside her. “Come on, this cake isn’t going to eat itself.”

 

Regina hesitated. “I shouldn’t stay. There’s a debate competition coming up,” She frowned, the list of to do’s in her head growing. “I have a test I should study for. Also, Archie turned in his essay on bullying so...”

 

“Regina,” Emma said sternly and pointed to the floor. “You can take five minutes.”

 

And so they ate cake.

 

“So, if your mom found out about the baking thing, what would she do?”

 

Regina closed the container, silent for so long Emma wondered if she would answer at all. “My mother has very high standards and she’s strict. Less than an A on a test, less than a win in a competition, if I’m not encouraging the right friendships or showing social as well as academic leadership...every time I fail...she...it’s a pattern. First, she lets me know that she’s disappointed. Then, for three of four days, she will only talk to me when she absolutely must. During that time, she showers attention and gifts on Zelena. After that, my mother takes something away and monitors everything I do. What I wear, my homework, who I spend time with.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s suffocating.”

 

Emma wanted to tell Regina about the misunderstandings between her and her own mother. She just didn’t want to take away from what Regina had just told her.

 

“I could never deal with that bullshit.”

 

“You...become numb to it.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Mostly. I do understand her objectives. I share her desire for excellence.”

 

“You know, you can be pissed at your mom, sometimes. I won’t tell anyone.”

 

The light words earned another brief smile. “She and I both have this image of who I am supposed to be. Sometimes it feels like I am in competition with it.”

 

“And your mom is okay with you being in Arts into Action?”

 

Regina drew in a deep breath. “If I am president of it, yes. Leadership positions look good on college transcripts.”

 

The bell rang signalling the ending of the period. With a sigh Regina rose and dusted herself off.

 

“You know,” Emma said, “you could come over to my house to use our oven and stuff. Whenever you wanted.”

 

“Why? Why would you do that for me?”

 

“Well, we’re friends. Weird friends but still...friends.” After Emma said it, she realized she was extending some of her heart in the words. The threads between them ran in wild, random directions before allowing the ends to meet. She craved a more direct connection.

 

Regina dropped her eyes and collected her books, pulling them to her chest. “Despite appearances, I’m not sure anyone I know merits that term. I find it very challenging to trust people.”

 

“Hey — you can trust me. I mean, I didn’t tell anyone about the stealth cookies, right?” She approached her, fingers in her back pockets. “Regina, we look out for each other. We have for a while now, haven’t we?”

 

Regina responded to the quiet offering in Emma’s voice, her guard lowering a little, her gaze sparking with hints of affection. “I suppose so.” Regina thought for a long moment. “Sometimes, I have told my mother I am tutoring someone to escape her scrutiny. But it would be awkward if Mrs. Nolan were aware of the deceit to my mother.”

 

“Mom usually has stuff to do after classes. And, I don’t think she’d mind keeping this kind of secret anyway."

 

“It’s truly not a risk that I feel I should take at this point.”

 

“If not now, then when?” Emma’s scolding didn’t have an edge, if anything, she tried to sound encouraging and convincing. “You’re in high school, this is when you’re supposed to do stupid things. Live a little.”

 

Emma knew that people hid things, they put up defenses or omitted their truth from conversations. They shut parts of themselves away. She wanted to understand more about Regina, to be willingly given a key to one of her locked doors. The more Emma let that idea play in her head, the more it grew into a small victory she needed. She prodded a little more. “Regina, this is the most non-rebellious thing you could ever come up with. It’s the bare minimum.”

 

That, at least, coaxed a quirk of her lips. “And you care that I am adequately rebelling?”

 

“Well, you’re ruining the curve for everyone. I mean, step it up.”

 

“Very well. Perhaps after Winter Break? Are you free after school on Tuesdays? Around 5?”

 

Elation grew like an oak inside Emma, sprouting higher and higher. “That’d be good.”

 

 

###########################################

 

Midterms came and went.

 

Before school let out for the Christmas holiday, two things happened. First, Archie’s anonymous essay took up two pages in the school newspaper. The article detailed the raw emotions of being bullied without going into too many specific events. It left no doubt that some of the intimidation he faced was violent.

 

Emma’s mom carried the paper, open to that page, for two days, making sure every teacher in the school saw it.

 

Second, just a few days later, an urgent school assembly announced a zero tolerance policy for bullying. All acts of violence would be investigated not by school administrators but by the police. Emma leaned against her locker waiting for Regina to walk by so she could silently gloat about her mom’s stubbornness. Regina pretended not to see her, but when she walked by, she flicked her hip.

 

Emma and Mary Margaret never revisited their fight. The school wasn’t sued, though, so maybe her mom changed her mind.

 

It became another unspoken thing between them.

 

########################################

 

**Apple Valley, Ma**

**The Present**

 

 

_Just ahead, in the last thirty feet of road, was another straightaway and a bump in the asphalt; it was where Emma herself had quit back then. She moved closer to the edge of the hill so she could keep Regina in her sights._

_Regina hit the point where the street levelled briefly before dipping straight down._

_Then came the hop._

_One of Regina’s feet flew forward off the front lip of the board. The skateboard shifted wildly, clattering, then spun side over side. Regina skidded over the ground, then tumbled hard and fast._

_“Regina!” Emma broke into a run._

 

 

No broken bones. The price the hill extracted was a lot of bruising, some skin burns and a scrape that made a hole in Regina’s jeans just under the knee. Regina didn’t want to go to the hospital and asked Emma to take her to her apartment.

 

They left the skateboard behind after Regina insisted she never wanted to see it again.

 

She’d upgraded since the last time Emma had visited her. Now she lived in a complex where a doorman opened the door. He asked if they needed help but Regina politely refused. They moved past a giant, tiled water feature on the wall to the elevator.

 

Regina pushed the number sixteen on the elevator panel. They didn’t talk as they went up.

 

Regina unlocked the door and Emma took in the dark wooden floors and the open floor plan.

At the end of the room, living room furniture surrounded a glass case in the middle of a brick mantle; probably a fancy fireplace. Closer to the door, a farmhouse dining table and six chairs awaited one of Regina’s formal meals. A trickle of unreasonable jealousy made Emma wonder both who and how often Regina entertained there.

 

Only a column divided that space from the well-appointed kitchen with a granite island that boasted stainless steel appliances. A built-in desk alcove with two tall glass cabinets displayed ornate china and doubled as a workstation. A classy, upscale home, free from imperfection — so like Regina, and so unlike her.

 

Emma thought back and tried to remember why and how they’d meshed so well. From the outside looking in, it didn’t make a lot of sense.

 

A hallway led away from the main area and Regina started in that direction. “Please, make yourself at home,” she said before disappearing.

 

Emma sat at the very edge of the couch, just wanting to get out of here. She didn’t want to think about Regina living her life here; lying down on the couch and reading, eating either alone or not so alone at the table, or exploring recipes at the counter next to the oven.

 

She shook out her arms, trying to loosen up.

 

It took Regina a while — ten minutes, then twenty. Emma debated with herself how long she should wait before checking on her. Right about the point she decided to, Regina appeared.

 

Over her arm hung a jacket Emma immediately recognized.

 

“I thought I should give this back,” Regina said and held it out to her.

 

The maroon and gold colors were only a little faded, the A on the front a little brighter than the rest. Emma gave it to her when she went to Harvard. Regina wore it almost every single time they’d seen one another after that. Emma held the jacket in her lap and didn’t know what to do with it. It weighed more than she remembered.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t give it back sooner. I guess I assumed we might make amends.”

 

“You told me you were done with me, Regina.”

 

“That’s not exactly what I —” She cleared her throat. “I suppose it’s close enough. Anyway, I wanted to get it back to you.”

 

Regina limped a little as she crossed the room to sit across from her. She set an envelope on the coffee table in front of Emma. “You asked me about opening a bakery.”

 

When they were younger, Regina would share her secrets in whispers. She and Emma would curl up in bed near each other, close but not touching. There were so many things they told one another in hushed voices.

 

“When I began, I thought the television show would help me find an investor for it. That was the plan. To stay a year or so, then try to move forward with the bakery. I thought it would give me a leg up.” Regina having a larger, sorta cryptic plan felt so familiar, like an old comforting song.

 

Emma took her in, wearing a fresh pair of dark slacks and a red off the shoulder blouse. She’d always loved Regina in red.

 

“I stayed longer than I intended,” Regina continued. “It’s made my life comfortable. Stable. This national television show could lead to significant achievements. It’s different direction than I expected, but that doesn’t make it a poor choice. It would, however, probably take my time and energy for years. If I do it right.”

 

She nodded to the envelope. “That’s another option; a resignation letter to the studio. I could follow my original plan. I  wanted to see how it felt to write it. And it seemed a more fitting dare than the death-defying skateboard ride.”

 

“So you, um, dared yourself?” Emma pulled the letter from the envelope and glanced over it, then put it back.

 

“I only wanted to consider it. Doing something brave. Rash.”

 

“And how did it feel?”

 

“Terrifying.”

 

She reminded herself that it was none of her business. “Right.”

 

“I’ve already thrown so many curveballs at my mother. Befriending all of you, dropping out of Harvard, being bisexual.” She ticked them off one by one. Emma remembered each moment, was there for each one. They faced it together. “Opening a small business has so many risks. It would be like starting over, wouldn’t it?” She shook her head at herself. “I’m sorry. I suppose it’s still easy to feel like I can tell you things.”

 

“We were best friends for half our lives. We just didn’t understand one another as much as we thought.” The b.s. monitor in her head blared. So many fucking things they never talked about, and hidden in unsaid words, the full truth.

 

A quick glance revealed that Regina had closed her eyes. “I wanted to call you after the Brain versus Brawn match. But it had been months. I didn’t feel like I had the right. I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear from me.”

 

Emma’s hands clenched. “Of course I would have. You were pretty much the only one I...fuck. It doesn’t matter.” She stood. “It’s in the past.”

 

“Is it?” Regina rose too. “Archie said you haven’t had a fight since you lost.”

 

It was worse than that, as if the paved road of her life ended that day and nothing lay beyond it.

 

A dead end.

 

“I’ve been training. Clearly I didn’t have my shit together that day so — need to be in better shape.”

 

Except she didn’t know how to be, even now. Before the fight, she’d trained for months, daily torture sessions where she pushed her body to breaking. Closer to the fight, she jogged in sweats with a plastic suit over it. Sometimes she wore both as she soaked miserably in a tub with water as hot as she could make it. All of it a necessity to tip the scales at the right weight.

 

They were some of the worst days of her life, where she fought tears and shivered uncontrollably, her body rebelling against her treatment of it.

 

She offered each sacrifice with a stoic heart, certain of her larger purpose.

 

The day of the fight, with the exception of Regina and her parents not being there, she’d been at her best. So fucking cocky and sure. Waiting to claim the title she was sure was hers.

 

One minute and forty-seven fucking seconds.

 

She pushed the hard ball of pain back down and slammed the door of the cage it lived in.

 

Regina scowled. “It’s been over a year. What kind of training regimen are you on, exactly?”

 

“Don’t pretend you know anything about what’s going on with me, Regina.”

 

“Don’t assume I don’t know when you’re lying to me, Emma.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“No? Well you sure the hell aren’t telling the truth. I understand why you’ve pulled back from me, but why them? They have done nothing to deserve it. Do you think they care that you lost? Or did this particular loss hurt your pride that much?”

 

Her heart banged in her chest, demanding attention. She ignored it. “Yep, that’s it. It’s just about my pride.” Emma held up the letterman jacket. “Thanks for getting this back to me. There might barely be enough room in my saddlebag for it.” She took on more casual body language and pushed open the door. “You ready to go?”


	6. Wrong Answers and Crashes

**Apple Valley, Ma**

**The Past**

**January 2007**

 

After the New Year, Regina came to school with a new car, a black convertible Mercedes. She, her sister, and her friends, now made a show of arriving to school every day. Hers wasn’t the only expensive car in the student parking lot; half the kids at Abigail Adams High drove better cars than the teachers or staff would ever have. However, someone as popular as Regina getting a new car naturally became an event.

 

Emma wondered if Regina had forgotten the baking appointment they had or if it would ever come up again.

 

But on that Monday, a note appeared in her locker that said, “See you tomorrow.”

 

At exactly five o’clock the next day, Regina rang the doorbell.

 

“Your mother?” she asked, without preamble.

 

“Doing something or other at school. Told you she would be.” Emma nodded to the bulging grocery bag in Regina’s hand. “You need all that to make whatever?”

 

“I do. The kitchen?”

 

Emma pointed then muttered under her breath as she followed Regina. “I’m fine, Regina. How are you?”

 

“I’m making caramel chocolate almond squares with just a flower of frosting.”

 

“Catchy name.”

 

Regina’s eyes twinkled as she started to unpack. “I’m improvising on a traditional chocolate chip cookie. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks.”

 

Emma couldn’t help but be amused by Regina’s childlike joy. “Well, who wouldn’t?”

 

Regina paid no mind to Emma’s poking mockery. “I need to work on the balance of ingredients. Each thing I add builds the flavor. Do you have a bowl and a mixer? I’ll show you.”

 

Emma knew where many of the baking utensils and pans were though some required excavation of the kitchen cabinets.

 

Regina kept lifting the spoon and making her taste. She did it after adding butter, then almonds, chocolate chips, and after the caramel chips, too. Each time she proffered the spoon, her eyes glittered awaiting Emma’s reaction.

 

Dear god, this was not going to help with the fantasies she was having. Sometimes she wondered if she should be embarrassed or guilty, given where her thoughts went sometimes.

 

Except, for Emma, friend-Regina and fantasy-Regina separated into two entities. After all, they existed in different worlds and they definitely behaved in disparate ways. Besides, fantasy-Regina’s visits were infrequent.

 

“Does it seem like there’s too much caramel?”

 

“I have no idea.”

 

“Concentrate,” Regina said, voice low and patient. Emma tried and in the back of her mind, she weighed the differences in Regina now compared to school. She brimmed with energy now, instead of restraint. She relaxed, sleeves rolled up and hair wispy in places from her hard work.

 

“Close your eyes and taste. Do you taste mostly chocolate with a hint of caramel or is it more than that?”

 

Emma cracked open one eye. “But if both are good, does it matter all that much?”

 

“The best chefs and bakers refine their recipes until it invokes exactly the intended flavor, in precisely the right order on your palate. They strive for perfection. Think of it like you would sports. In wrestling, you practice a move till it’s fluid, don’t you?”

 

“I get it. I take taekwondo. It sounds more like that — they make us study these forms, which are just a series of moves, one into another. But it’s about your stance, how you transition between the moves, the position of your body.”

 

Regina considered then nodded, deeming it an acceptable comparison. “How long have you studied martial arts?”

 

“Couple years now.”

 

Amusement played over Regina’s mouth and deep in her eyes; unobscured by shields. “Those poor boys never had a chance, did they?”

 

Emma did her best to appear humble and shrugged. Everything inside her eased, and her own smiles were just under the surface, poking through at the slightest provocation.

 

“Open,” Regina said and pressed the spoon against her mouth.

 

Being with her now, like this, her body hummed and her heart floated in her chest. Everything made sense and tomorrow was too far away to worry about.

 

Emma’s mom arrived home just after Regina and Emma had each polished off a few squares. For the first time that day, Regina’s neutral mask and that “at attention” pose made an appearance.

 

Emma tried to run interference. “Mom, you’re home early. So listen, Regina’s here —”

 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Nolan.”

 

“— and she’s baking some stuff and we need to sorta keep this a secret.”

 

“Baking?”

 

Regina gathered the cooking utensils and placed them in the sink, seeking to put distance between herself and the conversation.

 

“Remember the cookies I shared with you?”

 

Mary Margaret’s eyes widened with delight. “She made those?”

 

Emma needed her mom to focus. “Mom, please. It’s a secret.”

 

“Ah,” she said and nodded. “I suddenly forget what we were talking about. Except to say that any desserts that mysteriously show up at our house will be eaten until all evidence is gone.” She stole a square for herself and took a bite, sighing in delight as she savored it. Still chewing she said, “Also, please get the recipe for this from, well, wherever it came from.” Mary Margaret wandered into the living room, dessert in hand.

 

Emma grinned after her mom. She could really be amazing sometimes.

 

A little bit later, Emma walked Regina to the door. “So, um, next week?”

 

Regina maintained the bored, nonchalant expression she’d slid into place when Emma’s mother had come home. “We can discontinue this if we are inconveniencing your mother. My time is limited as it is, so perhaps it would be for the best.”

 

Emma didn’t think that was really the issue. “Regina.” Emma waited till their eyes met. “We’re not going to screw you over.”

 

She nodded slowly, the line of her shoulders losing its rigidity. “I’m being overly cryptic. It’s just been a long time since I’ve actively pursued something I know my mother disapproves of. Usually if I lie, it’s a one-off. I go to the movies or just — just escape for a while.”

 

“I do stuff my mom doesn’t approve of all the time. I’ll teach you.”

 

A playful brow lifted. “Is this more of your ideas about teenage rebellion? Are you volunteering to be a bad influence?”

 

Emma couldn’t have kept the grin from her lips if her life depended on it. She shrugged and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “If you want.”

 

She realized how much she liked who she became with Regina, how it felt so easy to be herself.

 

“See you next Tuesday,” Regina said.

 

For the next few Tuesdays, Emma’s mom joined them for the preparation part. She told them teaching stories or asked about different teachers or invited Regina to tell her what the newspaper was working on. Emma interjected a few things about wrestling here and there.

 

The moment Regina slid her dish in the oven, Mary Margaret always departed. She kissed the top of Emma’s head and asked them to save some of the dessert for her.

 

It surprised Emma that she didn’t mind when her mom joined them.

 

In Arts into Action, the group turned their desks to face one another and tried to get used to the dare system.

 

Archie dared Jefferson to show them his sketches. He did, shy and subdued for once. They passed the book around and Zelena said, surprised, “These are good.” Jefferson expected her to follow up with an insult, Emma could tell by how his chin lifted and his arms crossed over his chest.

 

She didn’t.

 

But most of the dares they threw at each other were annoying ones.

 

Jefferson dared Zelena to wear a baseball cap that said “jealous” for an entire day.

 

In return, Zelena made him wear preppy clothes for a day.

 

Jefferson tried to get her back on his next turn but at that point everyone voted to disallow retribution dares. So Jefferson challenged Regina to raise her hand in class, stand up, and give a long, completely wrong answer.

 

From the glare Regina gave him, it was his good fortune that exacting vengeance was no longer permitted.

 

Zelena cackled.

 

“‘Long’ is relative,” Regina said tightly, expression stormy. “Specifically how long?”

 

 “A minute.” Jefferson said.

 

“Very well.”

 

“Though wait,” Jefferson leaned his desk back on two legs. “Regina’s the only senior. How do we verify she did it?”

 

Zelena waved that away, totally enjoying herself. “Oh, I’m sure our friends will all be talking about it. Won’t they, Regina?”

 

Mary Margaret pushed Jefferson’s desktop so that it rocked forward, all legs landing on the ground.

 

Since they were in two different grades, Emma didn’t see it but she heard it went down like this:

 

The teacher asked, “The Bill of Rights guarantees what rights?”

 

Regina raised her hand, then stood (which no one ever did). She moved her hands behind her back. “The Bill of Rights guarantees that the school system and teachers can test students endlessly. The unbalanced scales of the standardized tests they often use don’t measure specific strengths and weakness, which would actually help students, but instead create a minimum achievement mentality.” The more she spoke, the more her face splotched with red. “Then there are other tests, used year after year by teachers, that evaluate the simple ability to memorize facts.”

 

Members of the class started to giggle, stir and whisper.

 

The teacher, stunned that one of his best students was acting out, tried to interrupt. “Regina,”

 

She cleared her dry throat and slowed down the frenetic pace of her words. She wrung her hands against the small of her back. “Essay questions are an improvement. Though, what life lessons are we supposed to be learning from stories by Edgar Allan Poe, where his main character straight up murders people? Is it a lesson in how elegantly violence can be described, or shall we take away the message that the human soul can be twisted? Anyone who watches the nightly news for more than five minutes is perfectly aware of that. Bizarrely, I have yet to —”

 

The teacher called her name again. “Regina?”

 

“— be taught anything about how to balance a checkbook, the importance of credit, the basics of car repair, and a host of other life skills every adult needs. Only in my senior year will I have access to classes that explain the world of business and what drives it. So, because it is so pervasive, it must be an absolute right to test, then group students so colleges can more easily decide who does and doesn't gain admission. Thank you.”

 

She sat down and the teacher, seeming more concerned than offended, whispered to her that perhaps she should go see the guidance counselor after class.

 

The teacher went back to the front of the class. “Does anyone else have an answer?”

 

Regina wrote it off to both authority figures and her friends as a prank.

 

“Mortifying,” she hissed to Jefferson as she moved past them in the hall.

 

Emma couldn’t deny though that Arts into Action had gotten much more interesting.

 

At the beginning of February, the coach told Emma he was going to let her wrestle at the next away match, one of the last regular matches of the season.

 

#################################################

 

Emma wrestled in the second lowest weight class. The guy from the other team, the Denmoody Dragons, kept smirking at her. Emma had heard that the principal of Denmoody reminded his school, in the sternness way possible, that unsportsmanlike conduct would not be tolerated.

 

She couldn’t be sure he was referring to how they treated her, but she suspected it.

 

The guys on her team, now faced with a common enemy, were supportive. They patted her on the back and clustered near her.

 

In the stands, her mom wore a sweater with the school logo and held a banner in her hand. Jefferson and Archie sat just below her, occasionally chatting.

 

Zelena, Regina and their friends sat on the top bleachers, very rarely watching the matches. Except when the time came, Regina shifted to face the gym floor and shushed some of those with her.

 

Her opponent moved to the center of the mat, shaking out his arms and legs. “Don’t worry,” he said when the ref asked them to shake hands. “I’ll try not to make you cry too much.” He chortled at his own joke.

 

In her head, Emma mocked him, Try not to make you cry. Asshole.

 

She noticed his loose stance as the referee had them face one another. She realized that his overconfidence would likely give her an advantage, at least at first.

 

The referee blew his whistle to start the match.

 

Emma went low, grabbing him around the back of his knees and forcing his limbs to splay open like a crab. She twisted her body around his, grabbed him in a headlock and took him down. She used her body weight to keep him on his stomach as he fought to rise to his hands and knees so he could stand. They grappled, straining against each other. Her muscles sparked with the first hints of pain. She pushed herself physically all the time, though, and it brought out the best in her.

 

He managed to push to his feet, even with her clinging to his back. She didn’t let go, instead swinging in front of him, her arm tightening her hold on his neck. He pushed her back. She planted her feet and tried to resist him but he drove her out of bounds.

 

They moved to the center of the mat again. Emma got on her hands and knees, with her opponent above her, arm curved around her waist. When the whistle sounded, she tried to stand and he struggled to keep her down and turn her to her back.

 

Again, they battled for superiority. Emma realized that this stalemate would eventually give him and his upper body strength the advantage. She pulled her legs closer to her stomach and shoved up with all of her strength. She managed to get to her feet and peel away from him. They faced one another, and they each connected a couple of holds the other escaped.

 

She couldn’t let herself get rattled. He wanted this to be over and would make a big move soon. She needed to act before he did and outthink him. She charged forward and grabbed him around the waist. She circled under his arm so that her front pressed to his back.

 

She lifted him up, and shifted her weight to bring him to the ground. He landed on his side and tried to push up, knowing the position meant trouble. She hooked her arm around his neck and angled her body so she could use her knees and arms to push him over and get his shoulders on the mat.

 

She did.

 

The ref called it.

 

She rose to her feet and heard polite applause and the louder braying sound of…

 

A kazoo?

 

Sure enough, Jefferson stood blowing into one, soon joined by Archie who had a party horn between his lips and gave three loud blasts. Her mother cupped her hands around her mouth and “Wooo-d” loud enough to echo through the gym.

 

She should be embarrassed, but they were all so totally on her side. She swallowed and her eyes burned as the ref raised her hand. She winked at her mom, who beamed back at her.

 

Emma glanced toward Regina. She smiled — that one smile that melted Emma and showed her more of Regina than most ever saw.

 

She shook the hand of her competitor, who scowled at her. Emma answered by tracing a fingertip down the side of her cheek, indicating an invisible tear.

 

The weirdest part, though, came when several of her teammates hugged her and a few more patted her head. Winning made her a more palatable teammate, she guessed. The coach didn’t react at all, which seemed par for the course.

 

That night, Jefferson draped her in a celebratory feather boa, which she told him wasn’t really a thing. Her mom took her, Jefferson and Archie to a restaurant and they toasted with milkshakes. Later, the teenagers continued the festivities by smoking a couple of joints, then they ate about a half-dozen tacos each at Taco Bell.

 

They ended up hanging upside down from a picnic bench because Jefferson swore it would prolong their high. Only when he crumbled to the ground, giggling, did she and Archie realize they’d been had.

 

On Monday, nothing changed at school, but Emma received a note with familiar handwriting asking her to show up in the Home Ec room during lunch.

 

Emma pushed opened the door and encountered Regina flattened against the wall near it, hiding. “I haven’t been able to bake anything,” she apologized without preamble.

 

She made sure the door was closed, then laid her hands on Emma’s shoulders. “You did so — I — I’m so —” she shook her head, as if too many words were jumbled in her mind. Emma, startled, found herself captured in the embrace of a still-tongue-tied Regina.

 

Her hands reflexively surrounded Regina, catching her. Regina’s hair grazed her cheek, the contact tantalizing her. She caught her breath. She bent closer, helpless to stop herself. The energy always buzzing in her system stopped and changed into slow, rolling waves, taking her high up, plunging her down, then rising again.

 

She closed her eyes and wondered if this was what perfect felt like, as the swells and crests kept coming.

 

Regina stirred and drew back. Wide-eyed she stared at Emma. “I wanted to say congratulations.”

 

“Um, thanks.”

 

Regina charged from the room.

 

Emma leaned heavily against one of the ovens. She lectured herself not to make too much of the moment. First, her attraction to Regina wasn’t new. Second, she suspected she could attribute the intensity of the moment to teenage hormones screwing with her. She read about it later on the internet: heightened levels of estrogen, progesterone, and testosterone were normal.

 

So, no big deal.

 

On Tuesday, Regina showed up with her bag of groceries, prepared to make empanadas. From the moment Emma opened the front door, strangeness ensued.

 

Though, really, it started before that. Knowing Regina would be coming over that day kicked Emma’s need to move into overdrive. Archie and Jefferson struggled to match her pace in the halls, and they finally gave up on it. She decided to run laps during lunch. The coach, at practice, ordered her to do the drills as instructed and slow down.

 

Her body kept flaring hot in reaction to the memory of the day before. Emma tried to act extra normal to compensate, which only rattled her. So, in trying to prevent weirdness between herself and Regina, she created it.

 

Regina tried to scoot by Emma into the house but Emma didn’t move fast enough and they nearly collided. Emma stepped to one side; Regina moved in the same direction.

 

Regina held up a hand to stop Emma from moving and conquered the overly difficult entry into the house.

 

Emma watched Regina unpack her bag, noting the contents. “I thought empanadas had meat.”

 

“No, they can have any filling. These will be dessert empanadas.”

 

Their conversation sputtered to a stop.

 

At this point, Regina knew where to find the bowls, pans, and utensils in the kitchen. She gathered what she needed.

 

“So, how do you find all this stuff, ideas on what to make?”

 

“Magazines. Occasionally a cookbook in the library. There are some good sites online.”

 

Dead stop again.

 

Emma winced. Attacks of nerves were rare for her. They showed up, a blip on the radar, right before a match or a competition. This strain reminded her more of that point in the weight room when she’d maxed out the amount she could lift but added just a little more anyway.

 

“Did I hear Regina?” her mom asked, poking her head into the kitchen. “Emma kicked ass this weekend, didn’t she?”

 

She swore Regina blushed, but she turned away too quickly to be sure. “She did,” Regina said, getting organized. “I think everyone was duly impressed. At least that’s what they’ve said.”

 

“As they should be,” Mary Margaret said and squeezed Emma’s shoulders.

 

Emma wondered if her mom’s pride canceled out her reservations. She didn’t think it did.

 

“I wish Emma were just a little more involved in other things.”

 

Annnnddd there it is, Emma thought grimly.

 

“Well, it seems like she’s much more involved than she used to be,” Regina said. “When I dared her to go to the Winter Formal for an hour, she almost succumbed to a heart attack on the spot.” Her eyes glinted. “Now, I think she could attend for two whole hours.”

 

“Maybe an hour and a half,” her mom said.

 

“Hey, I’m right here.”

 

Her mom stopped and tilted her head to one side. “Regina, did you hear something?”

 

“Perhaps the wind?”

 

“Hey!”

 

Her mother’s humor broke through the weirdness. The urge to act like everything was copasetic released Emma from its talons and dropped her back into sanity.

 

The old argument between mother and daughter was put aside. Her mom helped Regina roll out circles of dough and flicked flour in Emma’s face. Emma tossed some at Regina. It didn’t devolve into a full-on food fight, but they each came away with patches of white on their faces and shirts.

 

Her mom hung out with them until Regina put the empanadas into the fridge, explaining that they would need to rest there for thirty minutes.

 

Emma and Regina sat together on the couch in the living room, channel surfing. Their usual banter returned, effortless and magnetic as always.

 

Regina laid a hand on her arm a few times when making a point and nothing happened. Just a regular old touch. Emma reiterated to herself that hormones were to blame for any odd attraction or any actions she might take, in private, as a result of those feelings.

 

Again, no big deal.

 

“Archie and Jefferson are having an easier time at school lately. Between you and the new anti-bullying policy.”

 

“You've been paying attention to that?”

 

“I’m highly observant.”

 

“Right.”

 

Regina chuckled, an open relaxed sound. “I thought you used that word when you were judging people, but now I think you just use it willy-nilly.”

 

“Righhhhhtttt.”

 

Regina threw a pillow at her. Emma grinned, glad things were normal again.

 

####################################################

 

In late February, regional wrestling tournaments started but Emma didn’t wrestle again. Their team didn’t make it to state, but one of the larger wrestlers did. The entire team traveled to go watch him compete and lose. The next week, letters for letterman jackets were handed out, including one to Emma.

 

Wrestling season ended, and things settled into a new rhythm, interspersed with a degree of familiarity. She went back to taekwondo on both Mondays and Wednesdays. She jogged every morning, now four miles instead of two.

 

Regina came over every Tuesday at five. Mary Margaret still hung out with them for a bit then left them alone. Every time she came over to bake, Regina transformed into this other version of herself. She smiled more, joked frequently and shed the need to chase the image of who she should be living in her head. Sometimes while waiting for something to bake, or after it had, they went up to Emma’s room and talked a little or studied or watched TV.

 

Afterward, saying goodbye happened in stages. At the front door, then as she and Emma continued to talk about nothing, under the branches of the oak tree that hid them just enough from the eyes of others. Then again one last time, as Regina worried about the time and her mother finding out or someone seeing.

 

Often Emma would lean into the tree and watch until Regina’s car disappeared, still glowing inside.

 

After a time, she would pat the old tree’s trunk as if it were a loyal friend and wander up to her room. She lay down, smiling and not thinking of anything in particular.

 

On Thursdays, Arts into Action became both her bane (when she received a dare) and one of the most interesting things in her week (when anyone else did).

 

One morning in April Zelena and Regina didn’t come to school, and the halls buzzed with the news that Zelena had stolen Regina’s car and been in an accident. She had hurt her leg and would be out a week, then probably would be on crutches.

 

Emma wanted to check on both of them. She just didn’t know how to go about it.

 

Archie gave her the answer. “The right thing to do would be to go and see her,” he told her and Jefferson.

 

“You want us to go see her at home?” Jefferson looked on the edge of refusing, but he never did when it came to Archie. “Up the hill? The land of the Stepford people? Archie, I spend plenty of time with people like that in school. You think I want to seek them out in my free time?”

 

Archie remained insistent. “She’s part of Arts into Action. She’s one of us.”

 

Jefferson sighed, but didn’t say more.

 

That same week, Emma got her letterman jacket and her mother sewed on her letter from wrestling.

 

She wore it like armor the day they drove up the hill. Together the trio climbed out of her car and approached the front door, Jefferson shuffling along more than walking. Emma rang the doorbell and they waited.

 

“The belly of the beast,” Jefferson muttered, and Archie covered his mouth and strong-armed him with a stern look.

 

An elegant woman with dark hair answered the door. “Yes?”

 

She fixed a disapproving frown on Jefferson, who had dyed his hair red weeks ago and wore a spiked bracelet around his wrist. He’d left the cowboy hat in the car.

 

Archie held up a bouquet of flowers still in plastic from the grocery store. “We go to school with Zelena. We heard about the accident and thought maybe we could visit.”

 

“How nice,” she said dryly. “Well, just for a few minutes. She needs her rest.” She opened the door only a little wider, enough for them to come in single file.

 

She regarded Emma’s jacket curiously. “What sport do you play, dear?”

 

“I wrestle.”

 

Regina’s mother’s face scrunched like someone tasting something foul. “So you’re the one.” She gestured to the stairs without looking at them again, as if she couldn’t be bothered, and called, “Regina, your sister’s friends are here. They can’t stay long.”

 

As they started up, a wide-eyed Regina appeared at the top of the stairs. “What are you doing here?” she hissed and leaned over the banister to see if she could spot her mother.

 

“We brought flowers,” Archie said, holding them up again.

 

Regina sighed and motioned for them to follow her. She knocked on the second door in the hallway. “You have visitors.”

 

“That’s novel. Who is it?”

 

Regina’s answer was to push open the door.

 

Zelena’s eyes dimmed when she saw them, clearly expecting and wanting almost anyone else.

“Are those for me?” she asked. “Well, I suppose beggars can’t be choosers. Regina, could you get me a vase. I know it will be hard to fit them on the nightstand, what with all the other well-wishes, but we can try.”

 

The nightstand stood barren.

 

Emma stood stock-still. A sick feeling twisted her stomach at the sight of the angry red cuts scattered across Zelena’s face. Her right leg was elevated, supported by a pulley system. A brace, like a thick collar, stopped her from moving her neck.

 

“I had them frame a picture of the car. See?” She gestured to the second nightstand, where, on its own, sat a picture.

 

A telephone pole sliced through the middle of the car. The front of the car crunched inward around it, forming a gaping cavern. Shrapnel that used to be parts of the engine poked upward, wedging against the pole. The driver’s side of the windshield no longer existed, the rest was a spiderweb of fragmented glass.

 

Emma realized why Archie had wanted them to come. Her hands balled into fists in her jacket. They all had this thing together and this — Zelena like this — was wrong. All the more so because it was mostly self-inflicted.

 

The world should be simpler. There should be people she could punch or tackle or take down in any given situation.

 

Jefferson spoke first. “So you took Regina’s car?”

 

“Well, I really needed more alcohol, and I didn’t want to bother her and her beau of the month.”

 

“Well that was stupid,” Jefferson said.

 

Zelena’s eyes roared with temper. “Yes, please, bottom-feeder, feel free to judge me.”

 

Jefferson’s anger matched hers. He snatched the picture from the table. “Why would you want a picture of this? Do you think this is a joke? What the hell is wrong with you? You — you — fuck!” He pounded the picture into her bed near her hip, voice raw with emotion. “People die, Zelena. You could have fucking died. Do you get that? Is that registering in your thick, stupid skull?”

 

“Jefferson.” Archie lay a hand on his back. “That’s not what she needs right now.”

 

Zelena’s eyes swam with tears, but her chin rose defiantly.

 

“Jefferson just means” — Archie moved in front of him — “we were worried when we heard.” He sat in an armchair, pulling it close to her. “We’re not friends in the strictest sense of the word.”

 

“Not in any sense,” Zelena said. The cutting words were spoken in a weary reflex more than a true attack.

 

“Still,” Archie said, rallying. “If you need anything. I — I know we...I — I’m not your first choice. I just...we’ve all shared things. We may not be friends but we’re not not-friends. So, maybe next time, if you need a ride, you could call one of us. We’ll find a way to come get you. We won’t bug you or ask questions or anything. It’d be like calling a taxi. We just want you to be okay.”

 

Zelena’s chin trembled.

 

Archie rose as Regina returned with a vase. She took the flowers from him and removed them from their wrapping.

 

“I’m sorry if I’m being less than grateful,” Zelena said, still teary. “You’re the only people who’ve come. I wasn’t alone in the car, but no one...so, anyway,” She pulled her blanket up primly and recovered. “Thank you. If it matters, this time I scared the hell out of myself. I do know it was stupid.”

 

Jefferson, who had been glaring at the doorway since Archie stopped him, rounded on her. He toyed with his leather bracelet, the anger ebbing from him. “Bad shit happens to people every day. You can’t afford to invite it in.”

 

She nodded, fixing her eyes on the ceiling. “I know.”

 

They stayed only a few more minutes.

 

“Regina, could you stay a sec? Guys, I’ll see you downstairs.” Emma told them as they started to leave. Archie and Jefferson continued out. Regina, tired, circles under her eyes, waited.

 

Emma went to Zelena’s bedside. “I tend to think before I do anything. A lot.” She reached for the picture, lifting it up. “And I’m not good with people. So, I know I don’t have the right to act like I know so much better than you do.”

 

Emma put the photo back on the nightstand and clenched her hand, trying to still her shaking fingers. “But you’re one of us. Like it or not, you are. You need to take better care of yourself, okay? So, here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna leave my number with Regina.” She motioned to Regina, still statue-like near the door. “From now on, you get drunk at a party, you call me if you need a ride. I don’t care if it’s every damn weekend. I’ll make a deal with my mom so she won’t ask questions. It doesn’t matter what time. Just do it. Don’t force me to sit outside every party you go to, because I will.”

 

Emma didn’t feel done, like something still lingered that needed to be said. “And...I’ll meet you in the parking lot on Monday just in case you need any help with anything, okay? If your drooling admirers pick up the slack and help you, fine. But it would make me feel better to make sure. Just go with me on that, okay?”

 

Zelena cracked a smile, lacking the usual bitterness. “You sound so tough. You know if you were a guy, I’d be all over you.” For the first time since they’d arrived, she seemed okay, really okay. “Such a stud.”

 

Emma’s cheeks burned but she laughed. It was the first time they’d ever acknowledged one another as people, beyond who they hung out with.

 

“Feel better. We need your sarcastic ass back in the club as soon as possible. Archie might try and get us to all sing Kumbaya every meeting otherwise.” She bumped Zelena’s good foot with the back of her hand. “See you Monday.”

 

Regina followed her to the landing of the staircase, head bowed in thought. When Emma rattled off her phone number, she typed it into her phone. She pressed each number slowly, as if it expelled significant energy.

 

Regina shook her head. “I don’t help her as much as I should.”

 

Her worried, pained expression hammered into Emma, splitting her open. Her heart ached to do something: to dive in front of Regina, a tall bulwark defending her, or bargain with the universe to carry Regina’s pain.

 

All Emma could think to do was say, “If you need anything, if I can do anything, just tell me.”

 

Regina quickly checked the foyer, then leaned in, hugging her hard. “Thank you,” she whispered.

 

#################################

 

On Monday, true to her word, Emma met Zelena in the parking lot. Two guys were already helping her with books and her crutches. Emma gave Zelena a little wave, which she returned, then wandered off. Regina looked on curiously, frowning.

 

In the group that week, it was Archie’s turned to dare.

 

“Could I ask a favor, Regina? I want to dare Zelena but I think...I think it might be hard for her to do the dare if you’re here. Do you or anyone have any objections if I ask you to leave for five minutes?”

 

Regina didn’t seem happy but muttered, “Of course,” and left the room in rapid strides. Emma got the feeling Regina would immediately begin drafting a new rule to prevent this kind of thing in the future.

 

“Archie,” Zelena said when her sister was gone. “You are in for it. No one asks my sister to leave a room.” It was the first time Emma ever heard Zelena refer to him by name.

 

He moved into the empty desk beside her, taking her crutches from it and leaning them on another desk. “Why don’t we all move in a little?”

 

Zelena frowned suspiciously. “Now you’re scaring me.”

 

Jefferson and Emma took seats closer to Zelena though they did so uncertainly. Mary Margaret faded back from the group a little, signaling, as she often did, that this was thiers to handle as they would.

 

“This won’t take long,” Archie said. “I want you to tell us how you feel about the accident and be completely honest. For five minutes.”

 

“The accident,” she repeated.

 

“Yes.” He folded his hands together on his desk, patient.

 

The full story of what had happened had cascaded down through the rumor mill until even those on the bottom of the school’s social ladder knew the overall story. The weekend of the accident, Regina, Zelena and their friends went to a party. Zelena drank about as much as she usually did, but this time she stole the keys to Regina’s car. She and several guys decided to take a joyride. Zelena took a turn too fast, and the car careened into a telephone pole. Everyone except Zelena was fine. Her date, or whoever, ran to a payphone and called the cops, but then the guys decided that they might get in trouble if they stayed.

 

They left.

 

Someone found Regina and told her what happened. She convinced someone to take her to the crash site. The ambulance and police got there just moments after.

 

“Five minutes. Are you timing this, pasty boy, because I don’t intend to talk about it for one more second than I have to.”

 

“Zelena,” Emma’s mother scolded.

 

“I know, I know,” she grumbled. “Archie” — she stressed his name — “you’ll have to ask me a question...it was a long night.” She sounded like sweetness and light, but her eyes spit venom.

 

“It’s okay,” Archie said. “Just take your time.”

 

Zelena’s bitter affect weakened. She swallowed a few times, shaking her head and dismissing a half-dozen thoughts before she spoke. “Very well, the crash. I woke up after politely introducing myself and Regina’s car to a telephone pole. I smelled smoke and gas. My leg was trapped. I called for help, but I was alone.” She shifted, turning away from the others, facing straight ahead. “There are a lot of blanks I have about that night, but I remember that part clearly. I wasn’t entirely surprised to have been deserted. You know that feeling, when you expect things? People don’t like me. Not the way they like my sister. They never have.”

 

Her breathing hitched. “Do you know the first thing my mother said to me? She came into my hospital room and said, ‘What did you do now? Can’t you see how your actions affect this family’s reputation?’” Her bark of a laugh smashed into the room, more fury than mirth. “As if it would be better to be invisible. Overshadowed by Miss Perfection. The chaos I cause is entertaining, and I put out. That’s why most of my so-called friends hang out with me. Only one person except you visited me last week. And he wants to get into my pants.”

 

“My sister found me that night. She rode with me in the ambulance. She kept doing all these things for me after I got home. And I, if I am being honest, I only feel confused and angry at her. She cleans up my messes, but it’s hard to be sure why. For herself or for me.”

 

“I know all of you think I’m a bitch.” She turned to Archie. “And I do care that you’re being picked on. But you show way too much of your heart. You stand out, and you don’t fight for yourself. And you can’t do that.” Slow, crawling tears ran down her cheeks. “And I don’t have all that much that I can afford to lose things.”

 

She covered her face and her shoulders shook. Jefferson and Emma came closer but weren’t sure what to do after that. Archie, though, knelt beside her and hugged her.

 

Emma expected her to push him away but instead, she clung to him and buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said, the words fragmented by tears.

 

Archie held her until she drew back, wiping at her face. Emma’s mother quietly brought her a box of tissues.

 

Archie stayed next to Zelena and held the box for her. “You’re a really brave person, Zelena.”

 

She continued to rub at her face. “Yes, that is exactly how I would describe myself at the moment.”

 

“You are,” he said. “You’re just so busy reacting that you can’t see it. “

 

“He’s right,” Jefferson said. “You’re a fighter. But you fight almost everything, and the way you fight hurts you. Like you keep punching yourself in the face.” Her still-teary gaze lifted up toward him, uncertain about his intentions. She caught Emma nodding and only then did she seem reassured.

 

“What if,” Emma said quietly, “you picked things though. Like, I couldn’t have tried out for the wrestling team and the football team and the hockey team all at once.”

 

Jefferson sat on the other side of her. With a small show of reluctance, because he and Zelena still habitually waged war on one another, he lay his hand on her back. “You could start your own team, like, Team Bitch.”.

 

“Not what I was going for,” Emma said.

 

“Yeah, I just wanted to say ‘team bitch’.”

 

Zelena chuckled, a little of the pain lifting from her.

 

Jefferson lay a hand over hers, not holding it, just making contact. “I had a little sister. She died in a car accident. Years ago. When I saw you at your house, I wondered what if it was her lying there. I’d have yelled at her like I yelled at you. You deserved that.” His hand fell back into his lap. “But I also woulda told her that the guys who took off were assholes. She was worth ten times what they are.” He drew into himself, leaning over, elbows on his knees. “Fuck them.”

 

She dabbed at the fresh tears in her eyes. ‘Dammit, Jefferson, you are such an asshole.”

 

“Well,” Emma said. “You kinda both are.”

 

Zelena’s eyes searched Archie’s face. “Why did you ask me to do that?”

 

He straightened, leaving the tissues on her desk. “I thought you might need to talk about it. I wanted to help, I wasn’t sure how.” He adjusted his glasses, rushing on. “I — I know you don’t need my help. That’s not what I mean. I just thought maybe I could do something.”

 

“Archie,” she called gently. She plucked at the edge of his shirt then used it to pull him down. She leaned up, kissing his cheek.

 

He brightened, holding himself a little taller, with a kind of confidence, as if she’d given him something he’d been missing.

 

He slid back into his desk.

 

Emma’s mother stood near her desk, eyes warm and shining with pride. She went to them, the small group. “There’s a book called Love in the Present Tense, by Catherine Ryan Hyde. It has this line, ‘I looked straight at that candle flame and I knew Pearl was with me in that light. It was my first perfect moment.’”

 

Emma didn’t know what transfixed her about her mother right then or why a lump grew in her throat till it hurt.

 

“When several flames touch, the light they produce is increased.” She bent and wrapped an arm around Zelena’s shoulders, hugging her. Zelena smiled, chagrined but trusting her teacher. “We give to others and we think it’s just a moment. Or even a series of moments. But, I believe — I truly believe — love survives. Beyond everything else, what we give to one another always burns bright.” Her eyes rained quiet praise on all of them. “Amen and Hallelujah.”

 

A comfortable silence passed.

 

“Someone should get my sister before she has a heart attack,” Zelena said. Emma nodded and moved to the door, retrieving a frowning Regina.

 

Later that afternoon, Regina knocked on Emma’s front door, demanding to know what had happened.

 

Emma let her in, saying, “You do know this isn’t Tuesday?”

 

Regina’s expression changed from agitated to worried. “I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

 

They went to Emma’s room and sat on the edge of the bed, radio on though neither of them were listening to it.

 

Emma told her what happened, adding. “You might want to let her know you care about her, Regina. I’m not sure she knows.”

 

Regina shrugged. “I’m not good at showing how I feel.”

 

Emma’s shoulders lifted and fell in a motion that matched Regina’s. “I get it. I’m not good at telling people things. Like, with my mom.”

 

“She loves you.”

 

 “But, that doesn’t make things easier.”

 

“No,” Regina said. “It doesn’t with my sister either. My mother sets us against one another. She has for a long time. I knew what she was doing, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself from reacting exactly the way she wanted me to. I constantly tried to outdo my sister. I think, Zelena gave up and now she just tries to cause trouble all the time.” She folded her arms close to her stomach. “She could have died.”

 

Emma wrapped an arm around her back, and they didn’t talk for a while.

 

“I think my mom’s afraid I’m too much like my dad,” Emma said into the quiet. “And she...she thinks I’m supposed to do better than she did. Be more successful. Aim higher.” She half-scrubbed and half-massaged the back her neck. “I dunno. I want to be me. And I want her to think I’m pretty good like I am.”

 

“Just pretty good?” A light laughter settled over her features. It sparked a smile from Emma, but it became impossible to hold Regina’s eyes. “Maybe,” Regina went on, more quietly, “it’s just that she doesn’t want you to miss anything and she’s worried you will.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“I do think that at some point, you probably need to give much more consideration to your future. Just wanting to wrestle isn’t much of a plan.”

 

“Yeah, but right now?”

 

“No, not right now. If you want to go to college though, probably soon.”

 

“I’m not sure I do. School kinda bores me. A lot.”

 

“It’s not supposed to be riveting, it’s an opportunity to show what you can do.”

 

Emma rolled her eyes. “Of course you think that. You’re good at all that school shit.”

 

Regina frowned. “I work very hard at it.”

 

“I’m not saying you don’t. I keep trying to make myself care about grades and classes. I just can’t. I don’t want to flunk out but I don’t see doing four to eight more years of it after high school. I want get out there and start doing things.”

 

“What things?”

 

“I haven’t really thought that through yet.”

 

“Shocking.”

 

“I’m not good at all that much.”

 

“Maybe you’re better than you realize. What’s your grade point average?”

 

“You’re assuming I know.”

 

“What kind of grades do you usually get?”

 

“C’s.”

 

Regina winced as if the existence of such a grade pained her. She crossed one leg over the other and straightened her skirt where an unnecessary column of buttons ran down either side. She wore a matching wool vest with squares of black leather. Emma figured that the outfit cost more than half of everything in her closet.

 

“I bet you could get A’s,” Regina said. “At least B’s. In fact, I’ll prove it to you. Let me actually tutor you in one class. I’ll come over Thursday evenings too. I’ll tell my mother I’m helping a particularly challenging student. You can pick the class.”

 

“How ’bout study hall?”

 

“Emma, I’m serious. One class. Achieving success might provide motivation.”

 

“Or a headache.”

 

“One class,” Regina said, insistent. Emma sighed and they both knew it was capitulation. “I’ll help you prepare a study guide. We’ll need a binder, colored post-its and highlighters.”

 

“Fun, fun, fun.”

 

“Don’t be so pessimistic.”

 

“What’s the difference between pessimism and being realistic?”

 

Regina smiled pleasantly. “If your definition of reality is inherently marred by a bad attitude, then they are one and the same. You need to think positively.”

 

Increasingly, the way they pushed at one another was infused with teasing. The rules of their relationship changed a little every time they spent time together, but Emma didn’t know if she could define how.

 

They just fit.

 

They worked.

 

Happiness, like some of the classic songs Emma so loved, started with a quiet, repeating chord, then swelled — bold and raw — inside her.

 

Emma wanted more of it.

 

Regina traced the leather sleeve of Emma’s letterman jacket. “I do like this jacket on you.”

 

“It would look good on you, too.” Emma said the thought without checking it for stupidity, and instantly stuttered a disclaimer. “I mean, I’m sure you can get one of your boyfriends to give you theirs.”

 

“You wouldn’t lend me your jacket? Is that a definitive statement? What if I get cold?”

 

Emma’s pulse jumped around, having no idea how to respond to the coyly spoken words. “Why wouldn’t you use one of the five million jackets you own? I earned this thing.”

 

Regina leaned in a little, her fingers playing with the top button of Emma’s jacket. “Emma?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Tell me which class you want me to help you get an A in.”

 

Emma fell back unto her bed, groaning.

 

At the next meeting of Arts into Action, Zelena dared Jefferson. She whispered it in his ear though, so no one but the two of them knew the dare.

 

“Fuck you,” he told her. “I’m not doing it.”

 

“I’m not trying to be cruel, Jefferson.”

 

“I don’t care.”

 

So, Jefferson became the first of them to forfeit. Zelena and Jefferson refused to tell any of them what she had asked him to do. For his punishment, they made him be waterboy/towel boy for the boy’s Track and Field team for an entire week.

 

He did it good-naturedly, and the animosity between him and Zelena continued to ebb.

 

The week after that one, Jefferson arrived to Arts into Action with a photocopy of a sketch for each of them: a candle, resting on a stand, wax dripping down its base. A halo surrounded the flame, where five matchsticks touched. “I asked Mrs. Nolan if there should be five matches or six, and she reminded me this is our group so…”

 

He didn’t look at any of them as he said it.

 

“It’s very good, Jefferson,” Mary Margaret said.

 

Sometime after that, Archie taped his picture to the front of one of his notebooks. Zelena hung it in her locker. Regina kept it with her, usually in her pocket.

 

Emma asked her mom about having a patch made.

 

Between classes, Zelena sometimes hobbled through the halls with Archie, Emma and Jefferson.

 

 

########################################

 

**The Present**

**Boston, Ma**

 

 

_Regina scowled. “It’s been over a year. What kind of training regimen are you on, exactly?”_

_“Don’t pretend you know anything about what’s going on with me, Regina.”_

_“Don’t assume I don’t know when you’re lying to me, Emma.”_

_“I’m not.”_

_“No? Well you sure the hell aren’t telling the truth. I understand why you’ve pulled back from me, but why them? They have done nothing to deserve it. Do you think they care that you lost? Or did this particular loss hurt your pride that much?”_

_Her heart banged in her chest, demanding attention. She ignored it. “Yep, that’s it. It’s just about my pride.” Emma held up the letterman jacket. “Thanks for getting this back to me. There might barely be enough room in my saddlebag for it.” She took on more casual body language and pushed open the door. “You ready to go?”_

 

Emma kept her head down as she walked toward the large round sports complex. She’d called her manager the evening before, figuring he could probably get them in, and maybe even had enough clout to manage them wandering around for a while.

 

In exchange, he’d made her promise to come in and train at the gym that night.

 

Today, with no event going on, the center of arena just had a bare space.

 

_That night, there had been a circular ring surrounded by a cage. Spotlights of red, blue and green passed over the cheering capacity crowd._

_Emma winked at a cute girl on her way to the ring. Flashes from cameras exploded now and then ahead of her as her theme music — “Thunderstruck” — played._

 

_Her manager, Grumpy, climbed the steps and opened the door to the cage for her. “Who’s the champ?”_

_“I’m the champ,” she said._

_“Well, then you show them.”_

_She nodded and grabbed a picture of a mirror-still lake with her mind, using it to quell the nerves rattling in her legs and arms. She focused and calmed, breathing in and out slowly._

_Her opponent’s music played — a rap song she couldn’t remember the name of._

_Soon, she and the flyweight champ stood toe to toe, her opponent trying to psyche her out by getting_ in _her body space. They both bounced in_ place, _until the ref clapped his hands together._

In the real arena, not the one in her head, Emma counted to twenty.

 

_She circled, staying on her toes, cocking her fist, and guarding her body. She jabbed._

 

She kept up her counting. Another fifteen seconds.

 

_She struck again, just as light and quick, following the game plan._

 

Almost a minute in, Emma thought.

 

_The champ struck her leg with the arch of her foot and knocked her a little off balance. She stepped forward and punched Emma, putting her weight behind it. She followed up by tackling Emma, bringing her to the mat and continuing to punch._

 

Emma only knew that because she’d seen the recording, the first punch was the one that ended it.

 

_After about forty seconds of assault, the ref ordered the champ off and called the match._

_Grumpy examined her. She heard the announcer declaring the winner._

She blinked, pulling herself out of the memory, feeling sweat on her back and the labor of her breathing. Regina touched her shoulder and said her name. She heard it. She just couldn’t answer for a minute, placing her hands on her hips and pacing as if walking off an injury.

 

“Emma,” Regina said again.

 

For a second, Emma wasn’t sure which pain was worse — the memory of the night or the ache of Regina standing that close.

 

“It was fucking humiliating. Every second from the moment I went down. But that wasn’t the worst of it. None of you understood.”

 

She could have thrown something, hit someone, run at full speed for miles. “I figured it out after I joined the WEMMA promotion in the MMA and started fighting. I didn’t have a plan till then. But once I went pro, things made sense. I knew what I wanted to do. I needed to win.”

 

Regina’s furrowed brow made it seem like she was on the verge of asking a hundred questions and but couldn’t figure out where to begin.

 

“I was going to dedicate the title to my mom, Regina. I even had a poem I was going to read for the press junket after, too. I thought maybe someone might like it, might even want to read more on their own.”

 

Regina froze, stricken. “You didn’t tell me.”

 

“Would it have mattered? Anyway, I lost.”

 

“And you feel like you let your mom down.”

 

“That’s not it.”

 

“Emma, she didn’t always understand you, but she loved you. She wouldn’t have wanted you to torture yourself because you didn’t win a title for her.”

 

A single all-powerful thought stormed, imprisoned and hidden deeper inside her than any other.  It didn’t want absolution, it hated that possibility. “No, you don’t get it.”

 

“Then talk to me.”

 

“You think talking helps? That it somehow changes things? It doesn’t.” She lifted a hand to her chest, pressing fingers into her skin till it hurt. “It makes it worse.”

 

Emma circled the spot where the ring had been. She moved to stand in the center of the emptiness. “Can we go? I think we can both honestly tell the others we completed the challenge.”

 

If she ducked that one punch, maybe wasn’t so cocky, if she moved faster.

 

“Let’s just go.” Emma shoved the memories as far away as she could, and stalked towards the exit without waiting.

 

Emma got on her bike, arriving a full two or three minutes before Regina. Regina placed her hands on the handlebars instead of climbing on behind Emma.

 

“Can I ask one more favor?” she asked. “Another stop? Just one.”

 

“Now?”

 

“It would mean a lot to me.”

 

 

#####################################################

 

Emma’s hands coiled around her handlebars in a death grip. They’d been that way since Regina told her where they were going. Now, they sat in front of Emma’s old house, with Emma refusing to look anywhere but straight ahead. Her eyes wandered toward the giant, draping oak tree by the sidewalk. That too had memories that whipped at her.

 

“Why the fuck are we here, Regina?”

 

“Because this place is practically hallowed ground. We met at school but this is where we became friends. Every Tuesday. It felt like home in a way my actual home never did.”

 

Emma just wanted to be anywhere else, but she knew Regina well enough to know that they weren’t done. Emma kept her emotions locked down, fortifying the door she kept them behind.

 

Regina, seeing that Emma refused to soften, sighed. “You told me it helped to have me around...with your mom.”

 

It had. The three of them in a room felt worlds better than just Emma and her mother alone. Regina stood between them, often literally, and she understood both sides. She translated.

 

Emma didn’t want to talk about her mom, didn’t want to think about her. Too many thoughts battled in her heart, and all of the pain and love kept crashing together. Better to keep it contained and try to live around it.

 

Someone else lived in Emma’s house now. Someone with a Toyota and not a Volvo. Someone who had pulled out her mother’s rose bushes and replaced them with easier-to-maintain hedges.

 

After her mother died, the courts stepped in. A judge appointed an executor and also approved the petition from Archie’s parents to become her guardians. When she turned eighteen, about fifty-thousand dollars from the sale of the house waited for her.

 

“I didn’t know her very long. A year?” Regina asked and glanced back to Emma for confirmation she would never find. “But she shared you with me. She treated all of us like we were amazing. Strong. Limitless.”

 

Those words broke in. Emma shifted, her heart stinging, arms crossing over her chest.

 

Regina didn’t stop. “The only other person to treat me that way was you. The feeling of belonging I felt every time I came here, that was you too.”

 

Emma ‘s jaw locked. “It was a long time ago. And whatever it meant to you back then, it didn’t stop you from walking away.”

 

Regina nodded, offering no excuses. “Yes. I let you down. I let her down, too. This isn’t what I intended when I asked you to bring me here, but I could try to explain, if you wish.”

 

“I’d say the time for that is long gone.”

 

“Very well.”

 

“You think there’s anything you could possibly say that will justify what you did?”

 

Her steps toward Emma were quiet but determined. She stopped only when she stood so close to Emma that their bodies brushed against one another. “I offered an explanation, not a justification. I am well aware that the way I acted was inexcusable and selfish. I’ve never been someone who faces the unknown and the perilous with stoic bravery. No, instead I try to control things. Your fighting terrified me. I didn’t know what to do.”

 

Each sentence pounded into Emma’s soul. She tried to jerk back from Regina but, with the bike behind her, she had nowhere to go. “I let you in. You more than anyone.”

 

“So did I.”

 

She struggled to keep her voice down, to stop from screaming at Regina. “I would never have left you. Not ever.” The fury inside her crumbled. “We were supposed to stick together. You and me.”

 

“I know.” Regina’s hand curled around hers and she didn’t quite have the strength to pull away. “You’re the best thing in my heart. You have been for years and you still are. Incomparable to anything or anyone and inevitable. I never doubted that; I just let my fears control me. As they have far too many times. Can you really tell me you don’t know what that’s like?”

 

Watching Regina’s tormented expression in the moonlight battered Emma as hard as the hit that knocked her down at the pinnacle of her career. The one she still hadn’t really gotten up from. She held the cage shut inside her with all her strength. She couldn’t keep things in and also reach for Regina or anything else.

 

“I’m sorry, I suppose I let us get distracted from the reason I brought you here. This isn’t about us. The others are worried about you. You’ve withdrawn. And it sounds like it’s not just from them.”

 

After two years of time and distance, her heart should be fortified against Regina’s influence. Emma couldn’t stop her own yearning to give, to share. But letting Regina in, especially now,  would invite demolition into her purposefully small world.

 

“Before, at the arena, you told me that I didn’t understand. What haven’t you said? I know that losing the fight is tangled with your feelings about your mother. I know you wanted to win for her.”

 

Not wanted, needed, came a whisper from the largest, most hidden cage.

 

Emma shook her head and got back on the bike, hands hanging at her sides.

 

In the increasing silence, Regina finally drew in a deep breath and backed up. “The debrief is tomorrow. I want to remind you of the way we used to do things. We’re honest. No deflections and no minimizing. Which is all you’ve been doing since the reunion at the bar. When it comes to you, I know the difference, Emna. And if you do it tomorrow, I will call you out.”

 

############################################

 

As promised, she went to the gym that night. Grumpy gave her an ultimatum. She had two weeks to decide if she still wanted to fight or not. After that, she had to full-on commit, or he’d quit being her manager.

 

Later when she tried to sleep, she had the dream again. She woke up way before the alarm clock. Her gut jittered and even running didn’t help. Neither did giving each arm a twenty-minute workout.

 

She dragged the heavy bag out from behind her couch and set it up. She didn’t wrap her hands. Grumpy would have yelled at her for that if he knew.

 

She did a series of kicks and punches against the bag until the skin on her knuckles broke and her legs burned.

 

She called in sick to work that day, for the first time since she’d joined the police force. Archie called and left a message, checking on if she wanted to be picked up later tonight for the meeting. She rested for a while then started hammering her fists into the punching bag again.


	7. Losses and Admissions

**Apple Valley, Ma**

**The Past**

**September 2008**

 

Emma’s sophomore year ended with her first A. Emma’s mom put her report card on the fridge, and Regina even decorated it with a gold star.

 

The summer came too quickly, and she and Regina didn’t see one another for months. She occasionally hung out with Zelena, Archie and Jefferson. Zelena reported questions from Regina, like: did she have one of the new iPhone thingies?

 

Emma’s poor flip phone felt mocked.

 

They mostly communicated on MSN Messenger; Regina prefered it since she could share photos and documents. Emma questioned the necessity of seeing the latest update to one of Regina’s recipes when she still knew very little about baking, but she went with it.

 

They rarely talked about anything that important, but there were moments:

_I’m terrified that my one wrestling win will be the only one._

_I’m nervous about my Harvard interview._

_My mom keeps trying to talk me out of wrestling. She’s resorted to suggesting clubs you’re in, like debate club._

_I did want to be homecoming queen but if I let my mother know, she would be relentless. I don’t think I could handle that._

_It’s my junior year, I still have no clue what I’m doing._

_It’s my senior year. I’ve followed my plan perfectly. I just need to get through this year._

_Have I mentioned that I really liked winning that match?_

_Good heavens, have we finally discovered something you are ambitious about?_

_Mom and I sorta miss having you around. Sorta._

_I miss being around. Sort of._

 

School started in early September.

 

Emma still wore her iPod, more for security-blanket purposes now. The headphones rested around her neck most of the day.

 

Regina drove to school in yet another car, another Mercedes, with her iPhone at her hip. All the cool kids had one.

 

And so did Archie.

 

Emma looked at her own device sadly.

 

On the first day of school, Emma impatiently waited for a summons to the Home Ec room, and upon not receiving one after a couple of days, sent a note Regina.

 

“I was wondering which of us would cave first,” Regina said impishly as Emma opened the door to the room.

 

Emma shook her head. “Regina, I don’t think friendship has winners and losers.”

 

“Well, if it does, then I won.” Regina disappeared behind an oven, but she waved tupperware around the corner as bait. ‘Come along, Emma, I have treats.”

 

They sat behind the ovens and ate iced lemon cookies to celebrate their reunion. Regina kept touching her arm or her knee while making a point about one thing or another.

 

On Tuesday, Regina came over to stealth-bake as usual. They went to Emma’s room while they waited for the cupcakes to be done. Regina unceremoniously de-iPoded Emma the moment they entered the room and scrolled through her music.

 

“AC/DC, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Otis Redding, Bob Dylan. Do you actually have any music from this decade?”

 

“Have you heard the music from this decade?”

 

Regina placed the headphones over her own ears, sat at Emma’s desk and closed her eyes, listening.

 

“What are you list —”

 

“Shhhhhh,” Regina said, lips twitching to hold back a smile, before her face relaxed again. She concentrated on the music, bowing her head, pressing one hand against the ear speaker.

 

Emma shook her head because, even this, Regina did with intensity.

 

Emma kind of loved it.

 

Lying on the bed, she rolled to her side to be as close to Regina as she could be without falling off. As she lay transfixed, her heart, tired of being ignored, caught her in a chokehold. It forced her to examine how puny the word “attraction” was, given how much she felt.

 

When they had first met, she’d lusted after Regina. She didn’t expect it to sneak in, throw off its disguise and reveal itself to be something more. Her crush — the best way she could think of to describe it — was a ninja who raided her defenses and, before she could react, raised a new flag.

 

Or whatever crush-ninjas did.

 

She doubted Regina shared her feelings. People like Regina were straight, good citizens, and lived immaculate lives. Her crush would never go anywhere.

 

The official admission opened an entire can of worms, and a dozen questions about what it meant wriggled free. In her usual fashion, she decided to mull things over for a while.

 

When the song ended and another track started, Regina quirked a brow at Emma. “Showtunes? You have Broadway music on this, too?”

 

“I don’t know how that got there.”

 

Regina scooted the chair closer to Emma. “Sam Cooke. That was who I listened to. I liked it.” She crossed one leg over the other, sitting primly. “Though, I’m not sure I get the phrase ‘sugar and spice and everything nice’ regarding women.”

 

“Well, you wouldn’t. It means, like, a ‘nice girl,’ soooo... ”

 

The light joke hung in mid-air, helpless, as Regina slid the headphones around Emma’s neck, taking her time to adjust them until they rested evenly. “And you are suggesting I’m not one?” Regina placed her chin in her hand, index finger tapping against her lower lip. “That I lack something?”

 

The husky words dared Emma, and heat travelled down her body, over the muscles of her stomach. Fuck. Emma rolled unto her back as a means of escape. “Actually, I think it’s a cooking thing, so it’s probably a good fit. Probably.” She massaged the bridge of her nose and lunged for a new topic. “Hey, uh, are you still taking college classes this year?”

 

“I am. I’ve already registered and I start this week. Speaking of academic excellence, I have increased my ambitions for you this year: 2 A’s.”

 

“Two?!”

 

She patted Emma’s knee. “I have faith in you.”

 

“This is cruel and unusual.”

 

“Well, you did imply that I’m not a nice girl, didn’t you?”

 

Regina used that tone again, but Emma refused to allow the crush-ninja to distract her. This was life and death. “You’re evil. I can’t do two.”

 

“I do love a challenge.”

 

Shit.

 

Later that night, long after Regina left, Emma went into the kitchen and foraged in the fridge. She did a passable job pretending that she’d accidentally come across her mom grading papers, instead of on purpose.

 

Trying to sound as casual as possible, Emma asked, “Hey Mom, how do you tell if your feelings for someone are serious?”

 

Her mother paused, set her pen down and smiled slowly.

 

“Mom,” Emma groaned. “This is just hypothetical.”

 

“Okay, hypothetically. You know I’m restraining a lot of questions right now?”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

“As long as you appreciate my effort. Here.” She pushed a container of cupcakes at Emma, the result of Regina’s efforts earlier. Emma took one and sat down, waiting. Her mother’s countenance grew thoughtful. “I think, love asks you questions. It dares you. It inspires you to give. With infatuation, you already think you have the answers, and you never feel pushed. Sometimes you get lucky, and infatuation grows into love.”

 

Her mom smiled in the particular sad, adoring way she did when she thought of Emma’s father.

 

Emma dropped her eyes to the tabletop and found the bravery to ask, “And that’s how it was with you and Dad?”

 

She didn’t talk about her father. Her mom tried to draw her into conversations about him or about his death, to check on Emma. Emma couldn’t open that door to her pain.

 

“With David, in one night we went from one to the other. It changed my life. Loving your father was the bravest and best thing I ever did.” Mary Margaret touched their foreheads together, her eyes bright with love. “With the exception of being your mom.”

 

True peace with her mother happened too rarely. Emma, for once, didn’t retreat. The question of which of them was right and which was wrong didn’t barge in. She let the strength of her mother’s approval and love wrap around her.

 

####################################

 

September’s more moderate temperature grew cooler. Arts into Action officially started and Homecoming posters appeared in the halls.

 

In October, the flu started going around. At one point, about eight percent of the school population had it. Every morning during announcements, the principal reminded students to get flu shots.

 

Regina printed an article in the school paper with tips on how to stop the spread of germs.

 

After Homecoming, Mary Margaret got sick. She tried to work through it at first, nose red from sneezing, the cold meds she took having little to no effect. She talked about her symptoms with annoyance.

 

Two days later, she could barely breathe, and Emma called an ambulance. That first night, Emma slept by her mother’s hospital bed in a faux-leather chair. She hoped they would only be there overnight.

 

Mom, barely able to keep her eyes open, made the “I love you” sign with her fingers. Her labored breathing and the beep of machines were the only sounds in the room.

 

Her mother’s inability to talk terrified Emma, and anxiety turned tighter and tighter inside her. She told herself to be strong, that her mom needed her. She made stupid jokes, like being grateful she wasn’t at home writing a paper. She held her mom’s hand, probably too tight, listening to her gasp.

 

Around noon the next day, Archie pushed open the door. His arms wrapped around her and she leaned into him, tired of facing this alone. The others arrived not long after. The father of someone from school worked at the hospital, so word had gotten around.

 

Regina inched her hand toward Emma’s. When she finally cupped her fingers, the light touch was fragile, an uncertain offering. Emma tightened the connection, accepting.

 

Jefferson slouched by the window with a grim expression. Zelena kept moving. She decorated the room with several bouquets of flowers. She brought them coffee and soda. She fetched them sandwiches. She drove Regina’s car to get Emma a change of clothes.

 

Archie offered to read from a book of poetry. When he did, his soft, clear voice covered the persistent sound of the machines.

 

They stayed till visiting hours were over.

 

In the middle of their second night at the hospital, her mom lost consciousness.

 

The doctor explained that the flu had become pneumonia and said a lot of words Emma didn’t entirely catch about “respiratory tract infections.” They moved her mother to ICU, where the visitor’s policy was restricted to family members.

 

The others still came, sitting in the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room for hours. Emma would come out, spend a little time with them, then go back to her mom.

 

They kept trying different antibiotics.

 

The next day, Mary Margaret flatlined. They escorted Emma out and resuscitated her.

 

It made no sense to Emma. None at all. The flu wasn’t fatal. She told herself the worst was over. Things had to get better now, she thought.

 

It happened again. They revived her. Emma’s worry turned inside her constantly. She paced the room or the hallway just outside.

 

The administration in the hospital kept asking if Emma had other family; she told them she didn’t a half dozen times. Mom’s parents were dead. Dad’s were, too. They were both only children.

 

The alarms on her mother’s machines went off a third time. Again, they ushered her out. This time multiple doctors arrived. Everyone coming in and out of the room, some pushing in equipment, kept a frantic pace.

 

Until everything stopped.

 

The doctor joined Emma outside her mother’s room. He explained that they’d tried. He used words like “gone” and “we lost her.” He quietly asked her again about family. One of the nurses intervened and reiterated Emma’s previous answers.

 

They wondered if Emma had anyone at the hospital or if she was alone.

 

In the waiting room, Emma found Archie and Regina. Together, they hugged her close.

 

She didn’t feel it.

 

Archie called his mom.

 

The doctor came out and asked if Emma wanted to say goodbye.

 

She went to her mom’s room; a lemming marching by instinct.

 

Free of tubes and the plastic tent over her head and upper body, unobscured, she suddenly seemed so small. She kissed her mother’s forehead, then held her hand.

 

Her world froze, right at that second, for days. Like she never left the hospital, even while lying in the guest bedroom in Archie’s house.

 

Archie’s mother (she told Emma to call her Janice), who shared his curly red-hair and generously-appointed freckles, said Emma would be staying with them for a bit. If that was okay with her.

 

Janice Hopper took charge of the funeral arrangements. There were rules to funerals, Emma learned. She needed to find a picture of her mom and tell them if her mother had a favorite poem or piece of music.

 

She couldn’t think of any specific one. It bothered her. Her mom loved so many things like that.

 

Janice asked what her mother would want to be buried in.

 

Emma wondered, in some dark part of her mind, why it mattered. She stared into her mother’s closet blindly for twenty minutes before Regina ushered her out and took over.

 

The day of the funeral, Abigail Adams High School closed. They held a church service, even though her mom wasn't all that religious. The entire school showed up. The sanctuary’s mammoth interior crammed with people.

 

Archie held one of her hands and Regina took the other. Jefferson and Zelena sat with her, and so did Archie’s parents.

 

Afterwards, an endless stream of people, many she didn’t know, expressed condolences. When they came up to her, they were sobbing and heartbroken. It felt like holding herself together, meeting their eyes and shaking their hands, was the right thing to do.

 

Archie’s mom proved herself to be a saint that night. All five of them crashed in her living room, an impromptu sleepover. Janice not only allowed it, but she ordered chinese food for everyone.

 

Emma stared at the ceiling even after everyone else gave in to sleep. Or she thought they had. A hand curled around her arm. “Come on,” Regina whispered and, because Emma didn’t care much where she went or what she did, she followed her upstairs.

 

“Which one is your room?” Regina asked.

 

Emma opened the door, showing her. Emma shuffled in and Regina followed, closing the door.

 

“You were strong for everyone today. You have been this whole time.”

 

“I’m not sure what else to do.”

 

“For now? Lie down,” Regina ordered. Emma didn’t know where this was headed, but she trusted Regina and was too tired to ask questions. Regina curled up behind her, arms circling her. Emma closed her eyes and sank into the peace of being held. Regina’s hands rubbed her shoulders and back.

 

“It all feels wrong,” Emma whispered into the darkness.

 

“I know.”

 

“Regina, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know if I can do this.” Her voice broke and, childlike, she said, “I don’t have a mom and dad anymore. I’m an orphan.”

 

Regina lay her cheek against Emma’s back and tightened her arms around her. “It’s not the same, but I’ll be part of your family. And I think Archie adopted all of us a long time ago.”

 

Nothing much reached her in the low valley she lived in. But what Regina said, and that she could feel her heart respond, created a foothold somewhere deep inside her. A first step of the climb up, even if she couldn’t start now and didn’t know when she would be ready.

 

Every part of her wobbled in place, but Regina’s strength, offered to her unconditionally, kept the fragmented pieces of her from collapsing into a heap.

 

The next morning she got up and did what she had almost every day for years, needing to do something. She passed Archie reading at the kitchen table.

 

“I was gonna go for a jog.”

 

“Let me get changed really quick. I’m not all that athletic, but I could come with you, if you want?”

 

“You want to go jogging? You’re sure?”

 

“I think so?”

 

“We don’t we try walking for a bit then jogging?”

 

She took it easy on him, but he still gasped like a beached carp through most of it.

 

When they reached his house, he collapsed in the grass of his front yard. “You do that every day?”

 

She sat down next to him, and they watched the first rays of the sun peeking over the horizon.

 

He went jogging with her the next day, too.

 

############################################################

 

Officially, school allowed her five days to grieve.

 

Not knowing what else to do, she returned to school after only four days. Various teachers quietly whispered that she should come to them if she needed to talk. Those who hadn’t been at the funeral for one reason or another stopped her in the halls to tell her how sorry they were and strangle her with hugs.

 

Archie, Zelena and Jefferson flanked her everywhere she went.

 

And Regina too.

 

At lunch, Zelena, Archie and Jefferson surrounded her protectively.

 

The sound of a fourth tray quietly clattering against the table made Emma’s head jerk up. Regina, grim-faced, sat down with them. She reached out to lay her hand over Emma’s and squeezed it. The rarity of Regina’s rebellion should have caused Emma’s heart to swell. Instead, everything felt blurry.

 

“Are you just visiting,” Zelena asked her sister.

 

“No,” Regina said. Zelena moved to sit beside her, a show of solidarity.

 

Archie left a note in everyone’s locker to meet in the high school parking lot that night.

 

He guided them through the woods, saying only, “Jefferson found it.”

 

They didn’t see the barn until they were almost on top of it, the trees thick around it. It had three sides that were in pretty good shape, but no front. High above them, a hay loft extended on the right side, around the back then to the left. The floor was concrete, marked with a few lines painted in blue. A basketball hoop hung from a beam above.

 

“Oh good, an old condemned building,” Zelena said and wiped her hands on her jeans.

 

“I smoke pot here,” Jefferson said, shrugging.

 

They sat at picnic tables that came from who knew where, eyes red-rimmed. Jefferson hunched, half buried in his trenchcoat. Zelena sat with rigid, perfect posture. Archie put his head down on crossed arms, blotting away errant tears with his shirt. Regina, face pale and blank, held Emma’s hand.

 

No one said anything.

 

Stupid things occurred to Emma. Would she be able to keep going to taekwondo? Her mother got a break on the price because she was a teacher, but it was still pretty expensive...She’d been using her mom’s car, should she feel bad about that or was it okay?

 

“I want to keep doing the group,” Jefferson said, breaking the quiet. “I want to keep it going. Not as a school thing. Just us.” He struggled to get the words out, his voice taut. “Here, maybe. If you guys want to.”

 

“Should that really be a priority now?” Zelena asked with no heat, truly unsure of the right thing to do.

 

“I have no fucking clue. I don’t want to go back to how things were. She gave this to us.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, one of the photocopies of his Five Flames sketch. Emma reflexively touched the matching patch on the upper sleeve of her letterman jacket.

 

“This is us,” Jefferson said. “This is what she made us. We should fight to keep it, shouldn’t we?” He hung his head, fingers clenching at his hair. “They're in a car, or they get a cold — and it’s such fucking bullshit.”

 

“Come here, vampire,” Zelena commanded gently, and when he did, she embraced him. Archie scooted closer and wrapped them both in his arms.

 

Regina kept checking on Emma, worried. “We don’t have to decide this now.”

 

“It’s okay,” Emma said, watching the trio of Archie, Zelena and Jefferson. “Let’s keep the club going.”

 

The school named the gym after her mom. They didn’t ask her about it, they just did it.

 

They requested a picture though, to have an etching of her mother made. After it was hung, at the first “home” basketball game, then wrestling match, every player touched it as they entered to gym.

 

A new routine started. Every morning she jogged. She had wrestling practice six days a week. Late afternoon on Mondays and Thursdays, the group met at Poe’s Leaky Barn to continue the club. (But not with the old name. They were the Five Flames, Archie said. No one disputed it.) On Tuesdays, Regina helped her with her schoolwork. On Saturdays, her friends tried to coax her to do something fun. Sometimes they were successful, but mostly not. Regina kept Emma company on weekend nights when she lingered in her room at Archie’s house.

 

A daze surrounded her most of the time. She registered things briefly but then they dropped away.

 

Regina started taking the bus to school. She didn’t have her iPhone anymore. When the debate club, for the first time in three years, didn’t re-elect her as president, she dropped the club.

 

Jefferson and Zelena explained that they’d wondered if their frequent barbs hid an attraction. After one kiss, they decided they were meant for friendship and absolutely nothing more.

 

Archie went on a date with someone he met at a library, and Zelena insisted on buying him a decent shirt.

 

Wrestling season ended with her winning three matches and losing four. The joy or frustration she once might have felt slipped away without her trying to hold unto it.

 

Emma blinked and half the year went by.

 

A death-defying skateboard ride down Widowmaker Hill forced her heart out of hiding long enough to feel, however briefly. Regina not showing up for their usual Tuesday get-together though, woke it.

 

Regina didn’t answer two texts from her, further proof something was amiss.

 

Emma approached her in the hallway and realized no one surrounded her. No other students swarmed her with questions, or waited for her approval.

 

She still moved with pride and regality; only she did so alone.

 

It made Emma stop and see the world around her for the first time in months. She’d registered but not processed that Regina rode the bus now, that her new-fangled phone no longer lived on her hip. She listed other things about Regina she knew, but hadn’t given significance to: Regina told them she wouldn’t be going to prom. Every day at lunch, Regina’s tray slid onto the table Emma and the other Flames sat at. Emma assumed she would rejoin the cool kids at some point, but it had been months.

 

She gently took Regina’s arm. “Hey, do you have a second?”

 

“Emma,’ Regina sounded surprised, maybe expecting Emma’s usual zombie-like trudge through the halls. “I need to get to cl —”

 

“Just, come on.” Emma said and, undeterred, pulled her into the Home Ec room.

 

Regina drew back, brows knit as she tried to read Emma. “I’m sorry if you’re angry I had better things to do than that idiotic stunt Jefferson suggested.”

 

The list in Emma’s head kept growing. Regina had stayed over at Archie’s for an entire weekend a few months ago. The first night the Hoppers made up the fold-out sofa, but after that, Regina just stayed with Emma in the guest room. Zelena had said something about unbearable drama with her mother.

 

“How come you’re not going to prom?” Regina blinked in confusion. “You said you weren’t going.”

 

“No one’s asked me.”

 

“We’ll all go with you.”

 

“Emma, it’s fine. I don’t want to go.”

 

“What happened to your car? You’ve been riding the bus.”

 

“My mother sold it.”

 

A suspicion crawled up the back of Emma’s back. “Why?”

 

Regina rubbed her palms against one another. She took a few steps deeper into the room. Emma noticed she moved with no tap against the floor. She investigated her shoes — flats?

 

Regina wore heels. Always.

 

Emma strode forward and caught her around the waist. Regina squealed as Emma deposited her on a countertop workstation near an oven. “Talk to me.”

 

“About?”

 

“What the fuck is going on?”

 

“Are you disappointed in me?”

 

“Why the hell would I be disappointed in you?”

 

“I didn’t skateboard down Widowmaker Hill, which is a name that makes no sense at all and is complete hyperbole.”

 

Emma waved that away. “Yeah, it was stupid. Saw my life flash before my eyes. Zelena stopped halfway down. Archie sat on the skateboard the whole way. Jefferson almost crashed into an old man. I jumped off about twenty feet from the end.”

 

Jefferson had sold them all on the idea that it would bind them together, that facing their fears could do that. Regina called him while they were waiting around for her and explained she couldn’t come.

 

“I lied to Jefferson. I suppose have a hard time taking risks.”

 

“Anyone who’s known you five minutes knows that.”

 

“I just didn’t think I could find the courage to...and I didn’t want to look like a fool. But we were all supposed to and we all agreed —”

 

“Stop talking about the skateboarding thing for a second. Regina, I know I’ve been out of it. There’s stuff I should have asked you about. A lot of stuff, I guess.”

 

“No, you shouldn’t have.” She gripped the arm of Emma’s letterman jacket. “You needed support and time, not to worry about my personal drama.”

 

Emma hopped up on the counter next to her, regret heavy inside her. “What happened?”

 

“It’s not important.”

 

“Regina, please. Come on, we trust each other, don’t we?”

 

The debate in Regina’s mind played out on her face. Finally, she consented with a small nod. “You needed,” she hesitated. “I thought you needed me. People were patient at first, everyone assumed that I was just doing a good deed by spending time with you. After a time, some of them began to make me aware I was no longer welcome around them. Not all of them, but enough. The ones I used to spend most of my time with now treat me as an acquaintance. No longer one of them. My mother noticed my lack of higher-profile social engagements and gatherings. She talked to one of the parents who are members of the same country club. They informed her they hadn’t seen me around their daughter for quite some time, that they thought I hung around a different crowd now.”

 

“She took away your car?”

 

“She did what she always does. She ignored me, then began trying to force me back into compliance. Successful people lead in social areas, as well as scholastic ones. They influence others in every sector of their lives.”

 

Even now, she could see Regina trying to be strong, shoulders back, expression hard. Pain, held back for a long time, cracked through.

 

Emma turned Regina’s hand over, pressing their fingertips together. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It truly doesn’t matter.”

 

Emma’s heart balked then rallied against the numbness encasing it. “Stop. What else?”

 

“She gave away most of my good shoes, boxed them up and donated them. I came home one day and they were just gone. She won’t pay for anything until I ‘recognize my foolishness.’ Prom. College. She won’t — she said she wouldn’t help.” She kept trying to show only strength, head up, sitting straight. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to earn several scholarships; they should pay for almost everything.” Regina rubbed her fingers up and down against her forehead. “I suspected what she would do, even planned for it, but she surprised even me with that last one.”

 

“Because of me.”

 

Regina turned toward her, her gaze challenging Emma’s guilt. “You are my best friend. That pursuit of excellence taught me to prioritize. Just, for once, it wasn’t my primary concern. I made a choice. Just as I have regarding many other things.”

 

“Okay, so what if you stop hanging out with us?”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“You’re a senior. This is supposed to be the best year of your high school life. There’s still a couple of months of school left. You could try and get everything back. We could just do the stealth thing again.”

 

“Emma, it’s out of the question. She can convince me to do many things, and I have scraped and bowed to that person I am trying to be for a long time.” She pulled Emma’s hand into her lap. “But I won’t hide our friendship anymore.”

 

Emma laughed helplessly; worried, sad and proud of Regina at the same time. “Right.”

 

“I’m not always a particularly brave person, not when it comes to straying from the beaten path, but I’d like to try just this once.”

 

“Can I just remind you you’re the one who came up with the dares? So maybe you’re doing better than you think.”

 

“The hardest part hasn’t been the financial ministrations of my mother.”

 

“What is?”

 

“Emma, we don’t have to —”

 

“Regina,” Emma whispered and linked their fingers together.

 

“I’ve been feeling panicked and anxious lately. The college classes help, but it’s like I’m constantly worried there’s a test in five minutes that I forgot about and didn’t study for. I can’t seem to control it. Around my mother, and whenever I see my ex-friends in a group, it’s difficult not to feel that I failed. I’ve never failed, Emma.” She must have carried the burden of those thoughts for months. Alone, probably. “Perhaps I should have been smart enough to find a way to be your friend and manage my reputation.”

 

Emma tried to make her smile. “Because high school cliques are all about flexibility, and so is your mom.”

 

It worked, at least a little.

 

The bell sounded and they both made a face. “You’re late,” Emma said and bounced to the ground. She turned her back to face Regina. “Want a ride?”

 

“You’re offering me a piggyback ride?”

 

“I’m offering a first class shuttle from here to your class. Come on, this Mercedes is ready to go.”

 

“You realize we’ll make a spectacle of ourselves?”

 

“So?”

 

For the first time in the entire conversation, the vivaciousness of the Regina who had come over to her house to bake emerged. “Then, the least you can do is make appropriate car-related noises.”

 

Emma did her best imitation of a car engine gunning as Regina draped her arms and legs around her.

 

People who saw them tittered and didn’t know what to make of them. Emma screeched to a halt and Regina slid off her back. She stalked into class, poise never faltering.

 

Emma’s heart struggled to stay above the numbness. It sank and bobbed up over and over. She still didn’t know how to move on with her life without her mom. She just didn’t want to be a draining gap in her friend’s lives. She especially didn’t want to leave Regina alone.

 

From that day, challenging or not, she stayed present.

 

##########################################

 

Emma explained to the others what she wanted to do. Zelena brought it to life, organizing the details and thinking of things the rest of them wouldn’t have.

 

They met in the high school parking lot on prom night. Emma told Regina that the gang wanted to meet there, then head to a restaurant or something.

 

They pulled up in Emma’s Volvo. Archie and Jefferson waited for them, leaning against a white Impala that belonged to Archie’s mom.

 

Regina crossed toward them, Emma ambling behind her. “Where’s my sister?”

 

A high beeping signaled the arrival of Zelena, speeding up in a golf cart. Balloons hung from metal bars holding up the roof. Band music blared from speakers near the steering wheel. From the front grill, across the top and all the way to the rear flip seat hung multi-colored Christmas lights.

 

Zelena had used her powers of persuasion to borrow it from one of the guys at school. His family lived in a subdivision with a golf club and accordingly had their own vehicle. Zelena bought materials and supervised adorning it.

 

She climbed out, taking a plastic crown and sceptre and a feather boa from the front seat. “We, the Five Flames of Abigail Adams High School, proclaim Regina Mills queen of...well, whatever the hell you want to be queen of.” She decorated her sister, placing each item in the proper place. “Long may you reign. Now.” She waved to the parking lot. “You may take your victory lap.”

 

Regina proclaimed them all lunatics with a raised eyebrow.

 

Emma bowed. “Your Majesty,” she said and pointed to the cart while taking the driver’s seat. “It’s not homecoming queen, but…what woman hasn’t wanted to be Golf Cart Queen deep down.”

 

“You remembered that? What I said about wanting to be homecoming queen?”

 

Most of the words Regina said to her were immediately highlighted and bolded in her brain. Emma gave a giant “I didn’t do anything” shrug. “Thank your sister. She did all the deco, well, she bought it and told us what to do. And she put together some other stuff.”

 

“What other stuff?” Emma kept her face very blank. Getting nothing more from Emma, Regina faced her sister. “Thank you, sis.” Regina said softly.

 

Zelena cleared her throat, uncomfortable and uncertain about how to respond to gratitude. “Move along, you two. We have reservations, and I have a date later. Just because none of you wanted to go to prom doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the festivities.”

 

Jefferson considered the golf cart, head tilted. “You know, we should have taken one of those down Widowmaker Hill.”

 

Zelena glared at him. “Don’t even.”

 

Emma turned the key to start the ignition and Regina slid into the cart beside her. The rest of their friends crossed to the middle of the lot, waving to Regina as she and Emma circled the edges of the asphalt.

 

“Do the queen wave,” Jefferson said. Regina rolled her eyes, but she cupped her hand and gave a much more royal wave.

 

Two laps later, Regina insisted on driving. “My right as queen,” she said.

 

When she relinquished the cart, she put her crown on Archie’s head and bequeathed him a turn.

 

Afterwards, they went to a casual pizza restaurant where they presented Regina with her graduation present, an engraved silver box that read, “The Regina Mills, your mother sucks Five Flames Grant.”

 

“Open it,” Archie said when Regina stared at it in confusion.

 

Regina’s mother still threatened to withhold financial support. Regina planned to get a part time job to make up the difference after her scholarships. Emma and the others had talked about it. They decided that going to Harvard was a hefty transition on its own, and Regina should focus on her studies.

 

Archie sold his Wii. Emma asked for a small advance on her inheritance. Jefferson painted the outside of a few of his neighbors’ houses. Zelena sold several pieces of jewelry. They gathered all of their efforts into about two thousand dollars.

 

Regina lifted the paper folded in half, bearing the Five Flames insignia. When she opened it, a check slid into her hands. She stared at it, then lifted her eyes to the group, not understanding. When the shock faded, she shook her head. “No, I can’t take this from your parents, Archie.”

 

“It’s from us,” Archie explained. “All of us. Just, none of us had a checking account.”

 

“I pawned the diamond earrings Mom gave me because she’s angry with you,” Zelena said airily. “So, in a way, it’s partly her money.”

 

She kept her eyes on the gift as if confronted with something alien and incomprehensible. “I can’t take this.”

 

Regina Mills had entered high school with a plan. She dedicated herself to it completely, creating the flawless vision she wanted others to see. She believed any imperfection invalidated the whole, and anything she received from others was conditional.

 

She set the paper and the gift back in the box, pushing it an inch away from herself.

 

Jefferson leaned over the table, serious, and moved it back. “It’s yours.”

 

One by one, Archie, Zelena and Emma agreed.

 

 “I’m so rarely not a bitch,” Zelena said softly. “You have to take it.”

 

Regina turned to Zelena. For just a second, they connected completely. “Well,” she said, voice husky as she tried to gather her emotions back into a neat pile. “I suppose that’s true.”

 

She stood and smoothed her skirt. “Come here, all of you,” she said and extended her arms to them. Emma watched the gang surround Regina, folding themselves into a group hug. Before she joined, Emma took it all in. For the first time since her mom died, she let herself feel happy.

 

After a lot of pizza, they went to PLB. There, they shared a bottle of alcohol Archie stole from his parent’s cabinet (Jefferson literally applauded him). Near morning, they traded more hugs, and went their separate ways.

 

Except Emma asked Regina to go for a walk, and they wound up in front of a very familiar house.

 

“I’m fairly sure we’re trespassing.”

 

Emma pointedly didn’t let her eyes wander anywhere except the towering oak tree near the sidewalk. The alcohol still in her system spurred a false bravery, but even it had limits. “We won’t be staying very long.”

 

“Are you okay, being here?” Regina’s words were hesitant, trying to walk the line between words that might bring up too much, and offering Emma a way to admit her pain.

 

“Yeah, for now. This is important.” She knelt down, pulling a lock blade from her pocket and opening it.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Carving our initials.”

 

Regina swirled around, eyes darting in every direction as if expecting the entire police force to show up at any moment. “But this isn’t your — isn’t this vandalism?”

 

Emma squinted at her, brain sloshing a little as she thought. “Probably.”

 

“You’ll hurt the tree.”

 

“I’m pretty sure that’s an urban myth.”

 

Regina waved her hand in an exaggerated motion, also not quite sober. “You’ll disturb the tree’s aesthetic.”

 

Emma snorted but she lowered the tip of her knife. “Okay, how about here?” She uncovered the tree root. When Regina didn’t object, she wrote an “E.N.” with great care. She offered Regina the handle. “Now you.”

 

“But we did this at PLB; damaging the picnic table wasn’t enough?”

 

“That was a Flames thing. This is an us thing.”

 

Regina’s reservations gave way to something much stronger, and maybe her inhibitions were dulled. She bent and placed her initials under Emma’s, taking twice as long. Having stood, Emma peered down to figure out why.

 

“You‘re using script?”

 

“Excellence, Emma.” She lifted her chin, righteous with alcoholic influence. “Anything worth doing is worth doing right.”

 

“It’s a frickin’ tree.”

 

“Still.”

 

Regina pushed the dirt and leaves back into place, covering the markings. “There.” She rose and brushed off her hands.

 

Emma realized Regina would really be leaving, then chastised herself for being overly dramatic. When Regina started school they’d only be separated by an hour of driving time.

 

Still, their entire worlds kept changing.

 

She didn’t let her gaze wander toward the house. Regina did, but not for long.

 

Eventually, Emma shrugged one shoulder. “Let’s go.”

 

Neither of them wanted to leave one another just yet. They walked back to Archie’s and snuck up to Emma’s room.

 

“Okay, one more thing. Close your eyes,” Emma said. They sat on Emma’s bed, still a bit buzzed.

 

When Regina obeyed, she took off her beloved Letterman’s jacket and placed it in Regina’s hands. Regina’s eyes opened wide. “This is too much. You all have already…”

 

“No,” Emma said sternly. “Don’t do the bullshit thing where you’re all ‘ooooh I can’t possibly take this,’ because I know you like it and it’s mine to give you if I want.”

 

Regina stopped protesting and quietly slid her arms into the sleeves. Her face shone, and her overflowing heart reflected in the way she gazed at Emma.

 

Emma’s heart, made wise by the sadness of loss, recognized the depth of Regina’s feelings for her for the first time. She couldn’t face it, the emptiness inside her still too consuming.

 

Regina, unaware of the revelation, teased her. “I do think it looks better on me. To be fair.”

 

Emma smiled, dodging, refocusing on the familiarity of their friendship. “Right.”

 

“I don’t think you sound sincere.”

 

“All I said was ‘right’.”

 

“But you said it in that way.”

 

“You hyper-analyze that word way too much.”

 

They fell asleep next to one another, holding hands. That had happened a lot since Emma’s mom died, but they didn’t usually touch.

 

The night before Regina went to college, they talked half the night. They spoke about Emma maybe coming to live with her after freshman year, maybe getting an apartment together.

 

Around three a.m., Regina lying on her side on Emma’s bed, whispered, “Would it sound terribly stupid if I asked you to hold me for a bit? I suddenly feel unsure about a great many things.”

 

She scooted over to make room. When Regina lay down, Emma drew her close. “Like what?”

 

“Harvard. This path I wanted. I don’t feel any excitement about going. Shouldn’t I?”

 

Emma’s fingers stroked the softness of her hair. Regina sounded hunted by her uncertainty, scared, crouched down and hiding. “Maybe it’s nerves?”

 

“It’s not just college. What if my mother follows through on her threat to not help me financially? A part-time job or perhaps a full-time one on top of school? What if I can’t manage it all?”

 

“You can.”

 

“You don’t know that. My mother and my family’s money has paved so many paths for me. Half of my popularity was because of who my family is. We always threw brunches and get togethers for my friends.”

 

“My invitation must have gotten lost.”

 

“Sometimes I feel as if I’ve been holding on to a handrail for a long time. Propping myself up. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.” The bridge of Regina’s nose skimmed Emma’s jawline. Her breathing grazed Emma’s lower lip.

 

She closed her eyes to avoid the rise of need answering the press of Regina’s body. Regina shifted, hands settling on Emma’s shoulders. Another movement, closer, Regina’s fingers tracing the line of her cheek. She touched the edges of her hair, fingers parting through the strands there.

 

Her assurances weakened, distracted. “I think, I think —” The two words stuttered from her. “You aren’t giving yourself enough credit. You faced down your mom this year, didn’t you?”

 

“For you, yes.”

 

Emma fought to keep her head clear so she could be the friend Regina needed. “But, you did.”

 

Regina’s fingers toyed with the collar of Emma’s shirt.  “Yes, I suppose I did.”

 

Emma tried not to shiver from the thick, warm pulses of pleasure traveling through her veins. She defied every caution to stray close to temptation, playing with the boundary between friendship and something else. She lowered her head to Regina’s neck, nuzzling skin. Their hips swayed against one another.

 

She clenched her teeth as the bulk of her energy devoted itself to withstanding the battering of her desires. Her body taunted her with how easy it would be to sink into the promises of gratification. The prolonged intimacy chipped away at the strength that usually allowed her to hold back.

 

Regina lifted her head, and it shocked Emma to see hunger glittering in her eyes. Regina lay half-atop her, it didn’t escape Emma that with a small shift, she might straddle her stomach. The moment assaulted them with so many different needs.

 

“Emma?”

 

The shakiness of Regina’s voice unleashed Emma’s protective instincts. She reminded herself of every silent vow she’d ever made to create a haven for Regina when they were together.

 

She couldn’t deal with any of these feelings. Not now. Not so soon after losing her mother.

 

She broadcast the word "don’t" in her gaze. She didn't want to have to form her denial into words.

 

Maybe one day they would talk about everything.

 

“You’re going to do great,” Emma said, grappling for a way to say something important but not force them to confront fuller truths. “College is a whole new world for you to conquer, right? New people and experiences and all that stuff.”

 

Regina nodded, as if Emma’s plea for her to stop had been spoken aloud. She didn’t finish what she started to say and tucked her head under Emma’s chin instead.

 

They didn’t talk more and didn’t let go of one another till morning.

 

 

#############################################

 

**Apple Valley, Ma**

**The Present**

 

 

_“I’m sorry, I suppose I let us get distracted from the reason I brought you here. This isn’t about us. The others are worried about you. You’ve withdrawn. And it sounds like it’s not just from them.”_

_After two years of time and distance, her heart should be fortified against Regina’s influence. Emma couldn’t stop her own yearning to give, to share. But letting Regina in, especially now,  would invite demolition into her purposefully small world._

_“Before, at the arena, you told me that I didn’t understand. What haven’t you said? I know that losing the fight is tangled with your feelings about your mother. I know you wanted to win for her.”_

_Not wanted, needed, came a whisper from the largest, most hidden cage._

_Emma shook her head and got back on the bike, hands hanging at her sides._

_In the increasing silence, Regina finally drew in a deep breath and backed up. “The debrief is tomorrow. I want to remind you of the way we used to do things. We’re honest. No deflections and no minimizing. Which is all you’ve been doing since the reunion at the bar. When it comes to you, I know the difference, Emna. And if you do it tomorrow, I will call you out.”_

 

 

 

The Five Flames sat at the picnic table and Jefferson passed Emma a flask.

 

“So, Regina and Emma,” Archie said. “I assume you both completed the challenge?”

 

Emma let Regina answer for both of them. “We did,” she said. “Emma challenged me to skateboard down Widowmaker Hill. I will remind you all again that the name is inaccurate in every way. I challenged her to —”

 

“You went down Widowmaker Hill?” Zelena asked. “And I missed it? Emma, tell me you got a video.”

 

Regina glared at her sister. “If we could please move past your personal amusement? I challenged Emma to return to the arena where she lost. “

 

Jefferson sucked in a breath and his eyes stayed on Emma for a beat, checking on her.

 

“Well,” Archie said, taking back the reins of the meeting. “Regina, since you started, why don’t you tell us about what happened with you?”

 

“I passed, as Emma can confirm.” She rubbed her hands back and forth against one another, gathering her thoughts. “But, I also did something that wasn’t part of the original dare.”

 

Her mouth twisted. “When I dropped out of college, I thought I had finally torn myself free from my mother and from my own narrow vision of success. But after I completed my training and apprenticeship as a baker, my mother visited me for the first time in over a year. She offered me an easy path. A safe way forward. So instead of going into business for myself, I took the job on the local morning show. I told myself that I wasn’t giving up on the idea of opening my own bakery. In fact, I imagined that if I gained a little bit of popularity, it might make things easier. I might be approached by banks and investors instead of having to go to them hat in hand ”

 

Emma couldn’t escape the sight of self-recrimination in Regina’s eyes. Her heart reached for her. This was what she’d been afraid of. She wanted to stay in the water, and Regina’s proximity called her to land. A burning light in a lighthouse that beckoned her home.

 

Regina sighed, frustrated with herself. “Then they gave me my own show. I kept coming up with reasons to put off what I really wanted to do. And even after they made me a glorified puppet of food trends and statistics, I stayed rather than take the risk of failing.”

 

Regina reached into a pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “I’m tired of it. This is a letter of resignation. If I can actually find the courage, I intend to give my notice on Monday. On Tuesday, to further prompt myself, I have appointments with loan managers at two different banks to try and secure funds for a bakery. As I should have done years ago.”

 

Archie wrapped his arm around her and lay his head on her shoulder briefly. “I think just writing that letter is a big step.”

 

Zelena’s lips were pressed in a line. “Mom is going to go ballistic.” She paused, then reached out and touched Regina’s knee. “It’s a good thing, though. And me already being a huge disappointment will be a plus.”

 

“She’s wrong,” Regina said softly. “Obviously, you’re horrible in a dozen ways, but — not in that one.”

 

The two sisters shared a brief smile.

 

The corner of Jefferson’s mouth lifted. “You know, if things don’t work out, I might be able to get you a job as a bartender. Flexible schedule. Employee discount on drinks. The good life.”

 

Emma’s hands became fists. She punched into her pockets, that old festering wound overgrowing, cracking the place she kept it in.

 

“I’m terrified,” Regina said, “I’ve been completely nauseous the entire day.”

 

“But you didn’t tear up the letter or anything, “Jefferson pointed out.

 

“No, I didn’t.”

 

Zelena tried to offer encouragement. “Our mother threw everything she could at you in your senior year of high school, then again after you quit Harvard. You’ve already survived the worst she can do.”

 

Regina stared at the letter. “I should talk to her before handing this in.” Her hand pressed to her stomach and she drew in a shaky breath. “She’s my mother and I’m an adult; I shouldn’t feel like a child facing off against a dragon.”

 

“What advice would you give if Zelena had to go talk to her?” Archie asked.

 

“I’d tell her to be careful of Mother’s teeth. And to treat it like a covert operation. Go in, get the job done and get out of there as quickly as possible.”

 

Zelena nodded before adding her own thoughts. “If all else fails, toss meat at her and escape out the bathroom window.” A pleasant smile crossed her lips. “Since you had such a life-changing revelation, does that mean we’re all forgiven?”

 

“Not even a little,” Regina said without hesitation.

 

“Thought I’d give it a try. We also hoped the two of you might talk. Did you?”

 

Regina flitted a glance to Emma, not sure what to say.

 

“We did,” Emma said. “We both have a lot going on. We’ll have to see.”

 

Jefferson frowned, his bullshit detector going off. His face tightened in agitation.

 

Emma felt Archie’s eyes, could see his disappointment with her answer. She realized how many times she’d spoken similar flaky words to him about any number of things.

 

“What happened between us isn’t Emma’s fault,” Regina interrupted, stealing all eyes back to her. “It was mine. Emma’s fighting scared me. We argued about it, and I gave her an ultimatum.”

 

Jefferson took off his beanie, tossing it to the table, then banged his forehead against the hard surface. “Jesus, you two.”

 

Regina frowned. “What?”

 

He opened his mouth to answer and Archie hit him in the arm. Hard.

 

Jefferson turned wide eyes towards him. “Okay, _ow_.”

 

Emma couldn’t help it, she defended Regina. “We talked about that though. She apologized. Just, time has gone by. A lot of changes.”

 

Instead of offering a hint of gratitude, Regina glowered at her, her anger surging. “That’s a euphemism for abdicating choice and ascribing the reason to supernatural forces.”

 

So much for being nice, Emma grumbled to herself. “You know, I’m not required to just get over what you did.”

 

“Of course not, and I would certainly understand if you never do, but at least own your reaction.”

 

“I am. I’m saying I need time.”

 

“That is not what you are saying. That, I could understand. You’re making excuses to avoid making any decision at all.”

 

“You know, it would be nice if you quit acting like you know everything there is to know about me.”

 

Regina chuckled mockingly. “Emma, I have a newsflash for that elevated ego of yours: you are not that complicated.”

 

“Look, guys,” Jefferson said, “they’re talking again.”

 

“Um, Emma,” Archie took advantage of Jefferson’s distraction to carefully break in. “Maybe we should talk about your dare now?”

 

After completing a challenge the person always did a debrief. It wasn’t unreasonable. It fueled her fury anyway. “Fine. We went to the arena where I lost my title shot. Pure fun. Site of my greatest personal failure, nothing but good times.”

 

The cutting sarcasm made the others shift uncomfortably and give one another uncertain glances.

 

Archie, though, stayed with her. “That sounds difficult.”

 

“Don’t do the fucking psychology thing with me, Arch,” she growled at him. His wounded expression pierced her heart and she grimaced. “Look, I’m not good at talking. You guys know that.”

 

“That’s always kind of been the point,” Zelena said. “We’re a mess, all of us. But we push one another to be a little better. Which is why we thought this would be a good way to honor your mother.”

 

The invocation of her mom crowded in and cornered her. Instinctively, Emma stood. “I don’t know what you all want me to say.”

 

“The truth,” Jefferson said, leading the charge. The others nodded in agreement.

 

“I’m not lying.”

 

Because that would be a decision, she thought, paraphrasing Regina’s words from earlier.

 

“But are you being honest?” Regina asked, her voice changing from annoyed to beseeching. “Honesty, respect, confidentiality,” she said; not a challenge or an argument, just a simple reminder. “Just...try.”

 

Emma’s heart demanded she not abandon their mutual stare. All of Regina’s advice in high school, notes in lockers, soft confessions and the smell of freshly-baked cookies stood in stark contrast to where they were now.

 

She dragged her fingers through her hair. “There’s a lot I’ve been trying to figure out since I lost that fight. Going to the arena didn’t change that. It didn’t give me any answers or revelations or anything.” She circled the picnic table. “I don’t want to let you, or her, down.” Her voice softened. “More than I have. My mo —” The word unlocked padlocks and released chains around a wound.

 

She tensed her jaw, wanting to keep the cage shut. “Mom.” She shook her head, trying to get past that one word. “I...I resented her. For trying to show me a better way of living and for wanting me to be a good person. She wanted to take me to plays and art galleries, and I could have given a few hours of my time here and there. What — what would it have cost me? She was great, my mom. You all knew it. I knew it too. But I didn’t say it. I made her feel like she was a burden. I didn’t let her see that I was listening, even when it looked like I wasn’t.”

 

The world blurred and she rubbed away tears with her fingertips. “I think I let her down. Especially in the last year of her life. I could have done so much more for her, with her. I avoided her, like she was this nuisance.”

 

Regina stood while she spoke, hands clenched.

 

“Emma,” Archie said her name gently. “You were a teenager. You were asserting your independence and testing your limits. That's what teenagers do.”

 

“But it doesn’t matter, Arch. I made her feel…”

 

“The army, a cop, even the MMA,” Regina whispered. “You’ve been trying, this whole time, to show your mom what she meant to you. Because you’re afraid she didn’t know.”

 

“No. That’s — that’s not what I am fucking saying.”

 

_In the arena, her body tackled to the mat._

_Blow after blow against her face._

_The sound of the crowd celebrating._

_I’m sorry, Mom._

 

She took a running start and slammed her foot into one of the lawn chairs. It skidded over the concrete floor, coming to rest near the wall. “God damn it,” she shouted. She crouched down, hands covering her face, shoulders shaking. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

 

Regina reached her first, kneeling beside her. She drew Emma’s wrists down. “Emma.”

 

Emma kept her eyes shut, stubbornly holding back tears. The others drew close, sitting or kneeling around her. 

 

In a hoarse whisper, Emma said, “I wasn’t a very good daughter.”

 

The words had — secretly, destructively — hidden behind every thought she’d had about her mother since she died. They were the cages and the monsters inside them. They had stood in the ring during her fight and in every dream she’d had about it since. They counted her out, and announced her failure to the crowd.

 

“No.” Regina all but pulled Emma into her lap, cradling her. “Emma, no.” The Flames gathered closer, touching her back and shoulders.

 

“If I can’t win — if can’t make it up to her....” Tears broke free, taking her apart. Her body quaked as they escaped. “What do I do?” The raw question fragmented her voice. “I don’t know what to do.”

 

Emma pounded her knuckles to her forehead, wanting her mind to give her a solution, a way forward. Sick of it being useless.

 

With the last bit of fight in her, Emma tried to push Regina back, not believing she deserved comfort. Regina held on. After that, her sobs transformed her; moaning softly and only half human in her pain.

 

Regina whispered her name and didn’t let her go.

 

When Emma quieted, Regina cupped her face. “I told your mother that you were looking out for Archie and Jefferson. Not long after you started. She didn’t look surprised. She was so proud of you. ”

 

Jefferson nodded. “The one time she got to see you wrestle — she yelled louder than anyone there.”

 

“Every time you commented on a piece or presented one in Arts into Action, she lit up,” Zelena added. “Totally annoying. And also lovely.”

 

Archie offered Emma a tissue from a pack in his pocket. “She pulled me aside once and told me she was glad I was your friend. I think she worried she wasn’t always a good mom.”

 

Emma remembered the “I love you” sign her mother had given her that first day in the hospital. The joy lighting her eyes, the tranquility of her expression. At that moment she transformed into a beacon of the love she felt for her daughter.

 

Emma thought about the question her mother had asked during the first meeting of Arts into Action. Does true love exist? That’s up to you.

 

Maybe, she thought, after someone died, they left behind judgments of good or bad. Those qualifiers fading as their understanding became infinite. What if Emma had witnessed, not just a moment, but transcendence: her mom becoming a new creation who simply, perfectly loved and knew the hearts of those around her. No words left unsaid. No doubts. No misunderstandings.

 

Maybe too at that moment, her mom gave her something. A part of herself; a little piece of her light. In her grief, Emma might have missed it; the gift from her mother. So maybe it had remained in the dusty attic of her heart till she understood.

 

 _When several flames touch, the light they produce is increased_ , her mom had said. _We give to others, and we think it’s just a moment. Or even a series of moments. But, I believe — I truly believe — love survives. Beyond everything else, what we give to one another always burns bright._

 

“Can I be done?” Emma asked, needing time to think. “At least for now?

 

Archie squeezed her hand. “Is there anything we can do for you right now, Emma?”

 

“I don’t know. Just...can we all just hang out for a while?”

 

A pure unfettered grin rose on his lips. “We can do that.”

 

They talked for a few more hours. About Mary Margaret and then about their lives. Regina sat next to her even when Emma disentangled herself. Before they left each other, Jefferson and Archie pushed Emma to give her word they’d all have lunch the following week, and this time she didn’t balk. They all exchanged several rounds of hugs — even she and Regina.

 

She went home, thoughts churning and prodding. She wanted to do something, stood on the precipice of action but couldn’t quite decide where to go. After pacing her apartment and trying to quiet her head by working out, she decided to take a ride on her bike.

 

She knew where she would probably go — eventually. But first, she wanted to clear her head. She remembered the letterman jacket in her saddlebag and despite the heat, she slid it on.

 

She placed her headphones over her ears, finding a song she hadn’t listened to in a year and a half. The bold, feisty guitar solo started and then the irreverent pounding of drums. The two proclaimed independence as the chanting, “Thunder,” began.

 

####################################

 

“Can you meet me at Mom’s house?”

 

After sending the first text she’d sent to Regina in close to two years, she waited, leaning against her bike. Regina drove up in her black Mercedes, bought with her own funds this time.

 

Emma couldn’t stop the small smile itching at the corners of her mouth. So much about Regina had never changed.

 

“Emma?” Her heels clacked rapidly against the asphalt as she approached. She hadn’t even bothered to shut her car door. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Yeah,” she said, moving around Regina and closing the door for her. “Hey.” Emma fidgeted with the buttons on her letterman jacket.

 

“I was going to call you tomorrow and check on you. I know I have no right to but, well, I was going to anyway.” She cast a look around them. “You know these people will eventually phone the police if we continue loitering here on a regular basis.”

 

“I know, it just...seemed like a good place.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Can I tell you about something? A — thought, I guess, that I had earlier?”

 

“I find myself uncertain of the right protocol for a very old and estranged friend asking you to meet at their old house to tell you a thought. Should we sit?”

 

“You’re assuming I know.” Emma buried her hands in her pockets and walked to the old oak tree a few feet away, digging her fingers into the bark. “When we came here yesterday, it felt unbearable to be here.”

 

“And now?”

 

“It’s okay.” She loathed how hard it could be sometimes for her to find words. “I mean, it’s...it hurts, but it also makes me remember good stuff.”

 

Regina joined her, leaning back against the tree. A trickle of wind fought some of the heat and pushed her hair back from her face. Emme remembered standing like this when they were in high school, the street lights silent sentinels. The same ones were still here.

 

“I’ve been pretty fucked up for a while, I guess. And earlier, it’s not like it fixed everything. But I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time. Since the fight, maybe. Or since Mom died. But I’m not okay yet, I don’t think.”

 

Emma told her about the thoughts she’d had at Poe’s Leaky Barn — about the nature of love, what people became, and the flame they left behind. 

 

Talking could be such a struggle for her and now, she spoke in starts and stops, taking a long time. “Do you think, maybe, any of that — I mean, it might be bullshit. A nice story I’m telling myself. But there’s this thing I’ve been carrying and, when I started thinking that way, it got lighter.”

 

“My understanding of life’s truths is a work in progress but lies usually allow us to avoid what we don’t want to acknowledge. That doesn’t seem to be what you’re doing now. You’re being exceptionally brave.”

 

Hearing that from Regina, especially from Regina, solidified her thoughts and her peace a little more.

 

 “I,” Emma paused and drew in a deep breath. “I needed to tell someone. Well, not someone. You.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Regina whispered, “Why?”

 

“Why...” Rocks clogged Emma’s throat as she countered Regina’s question with one of her own. “What’s the real reason you couldn’t watch me fight?”

 


	8. Separations and Connections

**Cambridge, Ma**

**The Past**

**October 2009**

 

 

Emma’s nerves danced vigorously; Regina would not be happy with her news. She parked as close as she could to Regina’s dormitory. She still had to walk past three large red brick buildings before reaching it.

 

A few seconds after she knocked on the door, Regina opened it and  yanked her close. The sweet relief of having Regina close to her made every heartbeat less laborious.

 

As usual, she wore Emma’s letterman jacket. Emma’s fingers ran over the smooth fabric as she held her. Regina sighed in her ear, squeezing tighter.

 

Emma forced herself to draw back after a reasonable amount of time.

 

“Where are your things?”

 

Shit. Her consuming worries about Regina’s reaction caused amnesia. “Car. I’ll be right back.”

 

Regina set a hand on her shoulder, staying her. “Later.”

 

Emma and the others had helped Regina move in just a couple months ago. It had put them in close proximity to the disapproval of Cora Mills. Her eyes narrowed at them as if they were vermin that needed to be driven out. She left just as soon as she and Regina agreed on what courses Regina would register for.

 

Afterwards, the five friends wandered around campus, helping Regina get acclimated.

 

Regina’s mom relented on withholding her financial support a month after Regina arrived, probably confused by her daughter’s composure. They’d decided to get Archie’s dad to invest the remaining “Five Flames Grant” money and one day take a cruise or something together.

 

“How is everyone?” Regina asked, smoothing her skirt under her legs as she sat on the loveseat.

 

Emma settled next to her. Their knees touched. “They’re pretty much the same. Zelena swore off men again.”

 

“I heard.”

 

“Jefferson entered a couple of art competitions. He won’t know how he did for a couple of weeks. Archie’s trying to convince us that we should all do yoga. He got your sister to try it. Jefferson said he’d rather die, but, I mean, who says no to Archie for long?”

 

“Especially Jefferson.”

 

“That’s true too.”

 

“What about you?” An apt and dangerous question. “Have you thought any more about us getting an apartment together next year? I know it’s only October and you loathe any kind of planning, but we will need to make preparations.”

 

Emma decided to dodge. They had the whole weekend. “Right.”

 

Regina frowned at Emma, the stilted reply setting off her radar.

 

“Hey, didn’t you promise to take me on a ghost tour?”

 

“No, you saw a brochure and suggested we follow around a strange person in costume for ninety minutes of our lives.”

 

Ema needled her side. “Come on, live a little.”

 

“An ironic statement, given the subject of the tour.”

 

In the end, Regina allowed herself to be talked into it. She insisted on staying at the back of the group of twenty or so tourists, far away from the man dressed as an undertaker. She wore a puffy snow jacket over Emma’s letterman one. Still, whenever they stopped, usually in front of an old, dark building, she pressed back into Emma for warmth. Emma’s response of wrapping her arms around Regina just seemed like the right thing to do. Each time she did, she lost the ability to follow “gravedigger guy’s” stories.

 

When they got back to the dorm, Regina left Emma in her room to make coffee.

 

As she handed Emma a cup, she searched her face. “Are you okay?”

 

“Are you asking if the ghost stories scared me?”

 

Regina’s stare insisted she would wait for a real answer, thank you. “Emma.”

 

“Sometimes,” she said honestly. “I am right now.”

 

She still experienced the sensation of fading in and out of her life, like something kept pulling her out of range of a strong signal. She tried, mostly for her friends, not to show it. They worried when any trace of her sadness showed.

 

So far she’d only told Archie her plan. He still jogged with her sometimes, and his quiet receptiveness, combined with his instinctive ability to ask probing questions, pried it free.

 

Jerk.

 

His singular response was to ask, “Have you told Regina yet?” He assured her Regina would understand.

 

Maybe, but possibly only after she killed her first.

 

After Regina went to college, Archie grew stringent about making sure Emma ate and occasionally left her room. She suspected him of providing reports to Regina on a regular basis.

 

“I’m sorry I can’t be with you in your senior year,” Regina said quietly.

 

“Yeah, how dare you not arrange for us both to be the same age. I mean, do you know how inconvenient that is?”

 

Regina poked her arm. “After I get settled, I intend to come home as much as I can. We’ll see one another frequently, I promise.”

 

Emma’s jaw muscle jumped. She fought to act casual. “So, what’s going on with you? Are you president of anything yet?”

 

“I told you, underclassmen never get those positions.” She ducked her head. “There’s a class I’m struggling in, actually, so I might cut back.”

 

“You, struggling?”

 

“It’s chemistry. We’re required to turn in a paper every week, that’s not including lab time. Which is insane, given that it is only one of six classes I am taking.” She grimaced, and a line appeared between her brows. “I have a B. I have never had a B.”

 

The best way to deal with an upset Regina was one of two methods: humor or sincere understanding. She tried the first approach. “You do remember my grade point average right?”

 

Her scowl grew in intensity. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

 

Emma scrambled for the second technique. “Regina, you got into one of the most prestigious schools in the world. Having a hard time in only one class is a minor miracle, especially when we’re only talking about you getting a B.”

 

“But if my mother decides to cut off my funds again, I’ll need to manage school and a job.”

 

“And you’ll handle it.” Emma’s steady gaze demanded Regina believe her. “Don’t underestimate yourself. Figuring stuff out is what you do.” She tugged on the sleeve of the letterman jacket. “If all else fails, I’ll rob a bank for you.”

 

Regina’s expression eased, and her appreciation for Emma glittered in her eyes. Behind it, the shadow of words held back. Both of her hands surrounded Emma’s. “Can I bottle you and keep you with me?”

 

Everything led back to Emma’s news and stabbed.

 

“I don’t think I’d distill well. Besides, aren’t you only getting a B in Chemistry?”

 

###################################

 

Regina’s roommate was away for the weekend, so technically Emma could sleep in the deserted room or the loveseat in the main room. Regina’s twin bed didn’t have a ton of room and would be...awkward.

 

She expected Regina to insist on sharing. She didn’t. Emma wound up curling up on Regina’s floor with a blanket.

 

The next morning, they went to a coffee shop with an upstairs loft. As they sat down at a table, the tension in Emma kept rising to the point where her leg started bouncing up and down to expel excess energy.

 

She didn’t want to put off telling Regina much longer.

 

“I have a few options for what we can do this afternoon,” Regina said. “Are you more in the mood for loud and festive or peaceful but charming?”

 

Emma’s fingers smushed the bottom of her coffee cup. “Um, hey, we should talk about something.”

 

At the beginning of the school year, Emma drove by a “Go Army” sign she must have passed a hundred times before. This time, it sparked ideas in her head. She gave it a couple weeks of thought, then went to talk to a recruiter. She intended to be cautious and keep letting the idea percolate.

 

Except one random day, the vice-principal stopped her and said, “I hope you know how much we miss your mother.” And then came that fucking pitying look paired with an encouraging pat on her shoulder.

 

Regina’s brow furrowed. “Is everything okay?”

 

Knowing Regina would have reservations, she tried to make it sound cheerful, like the best decision ever. “You know how you always are after me to think about my future? I’ve decided to join the army.”

 

Regina wore the shell-shocked expression of someone who’d just been in a collision. “I — I don’t want you to think I disagree.” An automatic response, as she tried to formulate a proper one. “I know your father was in the army. It’s a noble pursuit, and the military offers assistance on college tuition and other benefits.”

 

She took a long sip from her tea, presumably because she needed to finish rebooting her brain. “It’s just a little unexpected. Perhaps we can talk through your reasoning?”

 

“Let me just tell you a couple of other things.” Emma decided she might as well say it in one big bang, instead of stretching it out. “After I made my decision, I figured there was no point waiting. I’m not going to finish high school. I’m going to get my GED instead.”

 

Regina froze. She must have hit some kind of emotional ceiling because she rose, snatching up the remains of a coffee and a muffin. “We’re going.” She crossed the room and reached the stairs in a flurry of motion. She didn’t slow as she moved down to the main cafe.

 

Emma tried to catch her. “Whoa, where are we headed?”

 

Outside, a few steps from the coffee shop, Regina whirled on her. “We’re going home to talk about this ridiculous plan of yours. Dropping out of high school in your senior year? What the hell are you thinking?”

 

Emma stepped closer, speaking quietly. “I was getting to that.”

 

“You are barely eighteen.”

 

“Regina, I —”

 

“Has it occured to you that you’ll be leaving school and learning to kill people at an age when you’re barely allowed to vote?”

 

“Wait —”

 

She kept going, a locomotive at full steam. “You could be seriously injured. You could be sent on a mission you don’t agree with. You’re someone who likes their privacy, how much of that do you think you’re going to get in the army?”

 

“I’ve already enlisted,” Emma said, speaking over her. “I’m going to boot camp in November.” Having stopped Regina’s propulsion, she lowered her volume again. “I was hoping to be a mechanic so, it’ll be at Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri.”

 

Regina’s anger slumped into surprise, then hardened into dread. “You’re going next month.” She buried her face in her hands, overwhelmed, shaking her head. Emma swallowed self-loathing for hitting her with everything too fast.

 

Emma reached up and drew her hands away. “What do you think most of the people at school see when they look at me? They see Mom. Either because they feel sorry for me, or because they loved her.”

 

“The Flames don’t think about you that way. I don’t. You only had one year left. Time all of us could have spent together before everyone went their separate ways. I could have helped you. We could gone through all of your options.”

 

Emma drew her to the side so a passerby could move past them. “I just...I need to be somewhere new. Since my junior year, I feel broken. The only time it goes away is sometimes around you. I don’t want to feel this way anymore. I need to do something.”

 

Regina weighed her own reservations against the earnest words. She drew the edges of Emma’s letterman jacket closer around her. “How long is your contract for?”

 

“I picked the one most people do. It’s four years.”

 

The sadness in her gaze grew deeper. “Can we please just go?”

 

They walked the half mile or so back to Regina’s dorm room in silence. Once they went inside, Regina sank to the couch, sitting stiffly.

 

“Are you going to yell at me some more?” Emma asked. “You can if it will make you feel better.”

 

Regina’s expression didn’t change and she didn’t respond. Maybe asking a planner like Regina to accept a big decision that didn’t come from years of detailed analysis, spreadsheets and workflows was a big ask.

 

“I don’t do very well with surprises. Part of me wants to offer you my total and unconditional support, because I never want you to feel like I’m not on your side. The other part of me just, I don’t even know. They could station you anywhere, couldn’t they?”

 

Emma nodded and dropped down onto the couch beside her. “You want me to show you a wrestling move so you can beat me up?”

 

“Yes.” Emma didn’t think she meant it. Probably. “Missouri?”

 

“The ‘show me’ state. I have no idea why it’s called that.”

 

“You’re an idiot.”

 

“I know.”

 

“And would it just be the one tour? Do you think you will come back here after?”

 

Emma tried to imagine herself as a soldier long-term, or being away from the others or Regina for longer than her contract. The idea already festered; a wound. Yet not a crack, not like the other pain that splintered through every part of her.

 

“I’m hoping I can, yeah. I’m kind of all about keeping things simple, and Apple Valley is part of that.” She dared a glance at Regina’s still form. “I’m not going into the army because I love travel oh-so-much. I’m not leaving just to leave. Apple Valley was the first place in my life that ever felt like home. I just want it to feel that way again. ”

 

“You want to leave so you can come home?” The question didn’t challenge. Soft, with restrained emotion, it offered understanding.

 

“I guess that doesn’t make much sense. But...yes?” Her forehead wrinkled as she sorted through how to explain it. “Look, I know it seems crazy. Even to me, it does. It’s just, right now, it feels like I’m fighting too many things at once. I think some of that will calm down eventually. It just needs time and it will get better.”

 

Emma sat forward, elbows on her knees, staring at the dark screen of the television in front of her. She didn’t have anything else to say; no better way to give Regina insight. The silence dug claws into her. She needed Regina, especially Regina, to get it at least a little bit. Regina kept her climbing, providing footholds when she couldn’t see a way up and the mountain seemed endless.

 

“Okay,” Regina whispered, expelling a breath. “You will give me your solemn oath that you will keep safe.”

 

Emma’s heart looked up and saw the summit; a long way away, but there. She smiled.

 

“And you’ll write so I don’t drive myself insane with worry.”

 

“I mean, this isn’t the Civil War. I could probably just call you.”

 

Regina’s master organizer side went on, unimpeded. “Also, I have seen how you pack when you come to visit me, things shoved into a suitcase with no rhyme or reason. That will never do. We’ll pack your bag together when you leave for boot camp. There’s probably a list somewhere of things you should bring. We should find it and go through it.”

 

“We can do that.”

 

“Emma? Despite my initial reaction, I want you to know that I am now and always will be proud of you.”

 

The words struck the bullseye of Emma’s heart; a target deserted for a long time. “Yeah?”

 

“Yes.” Regina leaned in and brushed a gentle kiss against Emma’s cheek.

 

Emma dragged Regina to her, the opposite of a tackle hug, with just as much exuberance. She felt a low laugh shake through Regina’s body.

 

The contact left behind a tingling sensation. They were still reeling from the conversation, hungry for affirmation that they were going to be okay. The air around them changed, pulsing between them like loud bass pumping through a speaker. In her body, that old swell of want broke against her skin and slid down.

 

Recently, in addition to the daydream of Regina’s rich voice breaking apart in her passion, she’d added the feeling of being deep inside her. Her fingers or her tongue joining them as she thrust just as fast or slow as Regina needed.

 

She groaned inwardly as her body reacted to that thought. She couldn’t afford to think that way in Regina’s presence.

 

Fuck, Emma thought. Crushes ended, didn’t they? With time, shouldn’t they fade instead of growing bigger? Too much of her appeared only with Regina; she became more when they were together.

 

Sometimes when their eyes met, she knew Regina wanted her back. They were at the edge of something, a rubicon.

 

Emma realized that if Regina just asked her to stay, she didn’t think she could go. She couldn’t afford to let anyone have that kind of power over her. Not right now, when she thought maybe she’d found a path to take to reclaim her life.

 

She couldn’t give to Regina the way she wanted to, but she needed — wanted — to give something. “Do you know how much I care about you? I don’t want us to lose each other.”

 

“We won’t. Not ever.” Regina’s lips pursed as she considered something. “Wait, do you think GED’s have a scoring system? We could work on getting you the highest possible score.”

 

The ambition sprouting on Regina’s face filled Emma with both adoration and alarm.

 

 

####################################

 

 

Before she left for boot camp, Archie asked her to go for a walk. He planned to attend Washington and Lee University in Virginia after senior year. Like her, he wanted a little distance from Apple Valley.

 

“I don’t think the Flames will lose touch. I started to worry about it but, I think maybe we were all supposed to be friends. Is that stupid?”

 

“No. No way.” Emma wondered how he could say what he felt so easily, without hesitation.

 

“Before Arts into Action, you don’t know how hard things were. I thought about...I guess it’s cliché, bullied kid and suicide.”

 

Every muscle in Emma’s body tensed.

 

“I hadn’t tried anything, but the thoughts were there.” Archie, always brave with his heart, didn’t hide the glow of gratitude on his face. “You changed my life. All of you did.”

 

Emma didn’t know what to say back to that.

 

“I’m only telling you so that you know there’s no debt. You don’t owe anything to me or my family. I love you Emma. No strings attached.”

 

He stepped closer, touching her arm. “I talked with my parents about a few things last night. All of us agreed that the guest bedroom is yours now. For good.”

 

She fumbled to come up with a proper protest. “Arch, I —”

 

“No. Here’s how it’s going to be. You’re my sister. You’re family. I know you feel alone sometimes but you aren’t. You’ll come back here when you can, whether I’m here or not. Because this will always be your home. Do you hear me?” He stared her down, stubborn and loving all at once.

 

Shit. She couldn’t say no to Archie when he did the speaking from the heart thing he so often did.

 

“Mom wanted this town to be home.”

 

“So, let it be,” he said, still feisty.

 

“When the hell did you get so bossy?”

 

“Learned from you.”

 

“Me? I mean, Regina or Zelena, sure, but me?”

 

Archie bent his arms, imitating a much more muscular form. “You’re going to let me walk around with you and Jefferson, whether you like it or not.”

 

“I never said that.”

 

“Oh yes, you did.”

 

“You’re thinking of someone else.”

 

“No, that was you.” He looped an arm around her and gave her a faint squeeze. “I meant what I said, okay?”

 

Emma sighed, beaten.

 

He grinned at her, that pure Archie grin.

 

She ruffled his hair.

 

Jerk.

 

##################################

 

**Cambridge, Ma**

**August 2011**

 

 

The army stationed Emma at Fort Hood, Texas.

 

By the third year, she considered asking to transfer to Fort Devens, Massachusetts, just an hour and a half from home. She felt ready to be closer to everything again. She didn’t think she actually could transfer this late in the game, but — she missed everything. Everyone.

 

During her service, her friends made sure she received weekly care packages. Emma suspected Regina organized a rotation.

 

Sometimes there were emails. Occasionally video calls. Most of the time phone calls.

 

She’d come home when she could, and it got a little easier each time. The old gang did their best to be there to welcome her when she stepped off the plane. They caught up and shared stories and all of them wished they could see each other more. They forged ahead into adulthood.

 

Emma found a degree of peace. Yet instead of resolution, she started to have thoughts she didn’t want to deal with. Questions she couldn’t answer. She put the noise of them away, first in a trunk, then deeper down in a long, steel container. They banged and called her name when she least expected it. Doing things, staying active helped drown them out.

 

She and Regina talked a lot about being in the same place at the same time with euphoria. Emma would move into Regina’s shiny new apartment and stay there till she decided what she wanted to do with her post-Army life. Or Emma would try to get a place in Apple Valley, not far from Harvard, and they’d be diligent about making time for one another.

 

Stray thoughts of actually talking about their relationship when she was back home danced through Emma’s head on occasion. The idea terrified her because, fuck, greed screwed things up all the time. Having Regina’s friendship in her life was a gift. What right did she have to ask for more? People with their hands full of presents who tried to take just one more could drop everything.

 

Still, she trusted Regina, and acceptance was one of the fundamentals of their relationship. So maybe it would be okay if they talked about their feelings.

 

In just one more year, she’d be back home.

 

Except one day Regina sent her a text about dropping out of Harvard.

 

Emma scheduled a flight out of Austin as quickly as she could.

 

Regina picked her up at the airport and took her to the apartment near Harvard that her mother helped pay for. She wore Emma’s letterman jacket. As usual, Emma’s heart lifted. She smacked it back down to earth till she heard more about Regina’s plans to leave college.

 

Emma dropped her rucksack in the living room, still in fatigues.

 

“I planned on making us dinner. Do you want wine or —”

 

Emma folded her arms across her chest, her tank of patience with only a few fumes left. “I want to know what’s up. You’re being, for lack of a better way to put it, stealthy again.”

 

Regina nodded, wearily. “I need to make a decision about something.”

 

“You mean staying at Harvard or not?”

 

“No. I am going to withdraw.” Regina’s shields rose, and her hands moved behind her back. ‘I’ve already told my mother.”

 

Emma’s impatience gave way to concern. “Shit. How bad was it?”

 

“She said everything anyone could possibly think of to change my mind. Then she told me if I drop out of Harvard, I will no longer be welcome at home.”

 

“She kicked you out?”

 

“For all intents and purposes, yes. And of course, after next month, she will no longer be helping me with rent or anything else.” Emma tried to figure out a plan, a way to help. She couldn’t think of anything; especially since she owed the army more time before she could come home. “It wasn’t unexpected, Emma. It’s her go-to.”

 

“Right, and you know that. So, I still don’t entirely get the you leaving school thing. I’m not saying you shouldn’t. But Regina, this is Harvard, and you worked your ass off to get in.”

 

“Yes, and I came to a realization that I was heading into my junior year and all I felt when thinking about my future was dread.”

 

“I hate to sound like, well, you.” Emma decided even as she spoke, that her comfort zone did not include being the mature, reasonable one. Still, whatever Regina needed. “Couldn’t you switch majors or something? I get the feeling Harvard covers a lot of ground when it comes to what you want to do when you grow up.”

 

“Staying here isn’t the kind of change I need.” She paused as if expecting Emma to interrupt or argue. Emma just wanted to get the full picture.

 

On the pub table in her small kitchen were a set of speakers. Regina connected her Iphone to them. Otis Redding poured from them, crooning about days when what to do was unclear and all that could be done was to watch the world go by.

 

Emma slid her hands into her pockets and approached her. “Since when do you listen to this stuff?”

 

“I told you I missed you. Did you not believe me?” The hint of Regina’s sassiness lightened the room. She glanced at Emma over her shoulder. “Besides, it’s good baking music. I’ve been doing a lot of it lately. I’ve never had a kitchen to myself. I’ve practiced recipes and had the Flames over on many occasions. I like it. I like me when I’m doing it.”

 

Emma slid into one of the two counter height chairs. “What’s not to like?” On the heels of the serious question, a joke. As usual. “Speaking with complete objectivity, I find you to be fairly good company, like, ninety-five percent of the time.”

 

Regina didn’t answer. She sat across from her, tapping the phone screen to lower the volume. “I came here because of my ideas about what success is, what it looks like. Those same ideas led to me to stand and watch while my friends harassed Archie in high school. He’s been gracious enough to tell me he forgives me many times. But those choices were all part of my ambition; that’s who it makes me become.” Regina fell deeper into introspection, her tone harsh. “My mother would say that it’s simply part of the price you pay for being successful.”

 

Emma interrupted the tyranny of Regina’s self-loathing with the usual attempt at a joke. “Yes, but, your mom would make Atilla the Hun go, ‘damn, girl, you’re cold.’ You’re not like her.”

 

“I can be. I could be. When my mother helped me get this apartment, she envisioned me staying here over the summer and taking extra classes. Instead, it’s given me some time to think about what I want. And what I don’t want. All my life I’ve told myself that baking is a hobby. Why? I love it. I always have. And, unlike most of what I have ever spent my time on, it makes me happy.”

 

Knowing at least some of Regina’s struggle rained relief over Emma. She could work with baking. “Did you tell your mom that part of things?”

 

“I did. She’d already used up all of her ammunition by then. I told her I would send her a pie.”

 

A laugh sprung from Emma and she cleared her throat. “Okay, that’s kinda badass.”

 

Regina relaxed, but not for more than a moment. “I suppose it was.” She dropped her head, pensive. “There are a few schools — well-respected ones — that offer degrees in Pastry and Baking Arts. I’ve been trying to decide between them.”

 

She pulled a napkin from a slate holder and toyed with it. “One school is the Institute of Culinary Education. It’s a year program, though I would also benefit from some of the certifications they offer. The other college has a campus in Texas, a few hours from where you’re based.”

 

Emma stilled. “But, you don’t want to go to that one?”

 

“The first one I mentioned is in New York City,” Regina said, with gravitas. “Other than a few places in Europe, there’s no better place to learn. After I graduate, I would, ideally, stay there for an additional year to help diversify my resume. At least I will if I can get a job at the right place. I already have a short list. And, after that,” Regina restrained her excitement, awaiting Emma’s reaction, but Emma saw it. “Maybe one day I can open my own bakery. I thought of a name. Regal Delights.” 

 

“Okay, just wait.” Emma rubbed her forehead as she processed the avalanche of information. She took it a little a time. “So when I come home you won’t be here?”

 

“The idea was for us to be in the same place again. I thought, what if you could come with me?” For the first time since she’d started talking about the school, Regina met her eyes. “To New York.”

 

Emma eased from her chair and paced. She set her hands on her hips, a sinking feeling in her chest. “Regina, I’ve been looking forward to going home. I think I’m finally ready.”

 

“The plan would still be to eventually go home.”

 

Emma breathed in and out for a few seconds, fighting through the heavy disappointment grinding into her. “But, I’ve been gone, moving around for four years.”

 

Regina nodded, a small, defeated movement. “If I do go to New York, I’d be there three years at most and for one of those, you’ll still be in the army. And, we could still discuss Texas. That’s not off the table.” Regina crumbled the napkin and tossed it away from her. “Maybe this is all idiocy. I’m hoping to make the numbers and money work. I don’t know if I can. I have never, in my life, truly had to support myself.”

 

“There was that month or so your freshman year.”

 

“Hardly a true test. I’d be working in a bakery in New York, probably making next to nothing. God only knows where I’d have to live.”

 

Regina’s self-doubt broke through the fog of Emma’s dejection. She came up behind her, setting her chin on Regina’s shoulder. “Stop.”

 

In the name of being Regina’s safe place, she’d compelled herself to do or not do many things. None were as hard as this.

 

“You’re finally getting the courage to chase after something you really want. And then you’re talking about Texas or making sure you come home in three years or calling it stupid.” Emma turned Regina’s stool so she could see her face. Her hand cupped Regina’s cheek. “Here’s how it’s gonna go. You’ll apply to that school in New York CIty and create an insane, obsessive list of scholarships and grants you qualify for.” Regina started to object but Emma didn’t let her. “You’ll follow your plan and figure things out. Only you shouldn’t do it with obligations hanging over your head. What if you do really well? What if you find your dream job?”

 

Regina leaned her head against Emma’s. “You have no idea how much I miss you.”

 

“I guess I kinda do.” She poked Regina’s stomach to try and continue to ease her mood. “Look, I just want you to be happy.” Emma’s needs were few, but one of them was for Regina to never doubt her allegiance. “Also, I kinda want to kick your mom’s ass.”

 

It made Regina laugh, the best feeling in the world.

 

“I’m not going anywhere.” She kissed Regina’s temple. “When you’re ready to come home, I’ll be there. You just do whatever you have to do.”

 

She closed her eyes and revelled in their closeness. Emma allowed herself to do the same till Regina asked, “what if I fail?”

 

“What if you don’t?”

 

She sighed. Her lower lip protruded, however, Regina would never allow anyone to accuse her of pouting. “None of this is going according to plan.”

 

“Life doesn’t really give a fuck about plans.”

 

“I have noticed,” Regina agreed, a little weepy but already recovering. “I intend to lodge a complaint.”

 

“I’m not even sure how that would work.”

 

“Simple. I would ask to talk to life’s manager.” Regina brushed away the tears from her cheeks as if they were annoying gnats. “I knew you wouldn’t go with me. I couldn’t imagine you in the hustle and bustle of Manhattan.”

 

“I could hustle and bustle.”

 

“Of course you could.” Regina didn’t sound sincere.

 

“You know what, you don’t know me as well as you think you do. Like, what's my favorite movie?

 

“Rudy. You appreciate the idea that heroism can come from determination.”

 

“I never said that.”

 

Regina raised a brow. “So, I am incorrect?”

 

“Well that was an easy one. What's my favorite yogurt? Wait, wait. What's my favorite app?”

 

“Chocolate. Something to do with music.”

 

Emma blinked at her a few times. “Okay, those were easy ones too. What’s my favorite fish?”

 

“Tuna? I’m not sure you know of any others.”

 

“I eat fish,” Emma grumbled, but truthfully, she liked that Regina kept guessing right. “My favorite video game?”

 

“What was that game you played non-stop when you came home for the last holiday? Mass Effect.”

 

‘Whatever.”

 

“Does that mean you concede?”

 

That night for no reason, they stayed up late, Regina making cookies and forcing Emma back into a taste-tester role.

 

“This song,” Regina said as the cookies cooled, she pointed to the pub table and the speakers there with her oven mitt. “Sam Cooke. ‘Nothing Can Change This Love. This was the song I listened to on your headphones the first day you let me use them.”

 

Sometimes knowing things made everything harder.

 

Three years.

 

Emma didn’t bank on it. She wanted Regina to have the freedom to follow her dreams.

 

Still, she hoped they’d be in the same place again eventually.

 

Maybe then... But she didn’t have the courage to make it a complete thought.

 

 

#######################################

 

**Boston, Ma**

**May 2016**

 

Regina stayed in New York for three years, as promised. To make ends meet, she worked at a restaurant, then for a car insurance company. A full-time job and school wasn’t easy. But she had never lacked determination and didn’t complain. Emma couldn’t have been more proud of her.

 

After school, Regina found a job at one of the bakeries on her list and glowingly spoke of all she learned.

 

She also started and ended a year-long thing with a woman named Camille. She told Emma she had always suspected she “leaned in a bisexual direction.” Emma found excuses not to visit during that period. It ratified her decision not to go to New York. Regina shipped her mom the promised pie with a picture of her and Camille, arms around one another.

 

Eventually, Regina started talking about the next phase of her life. Her mom though came to her with the suggestion of doing bits for the local morning TV show. Regina thought the exposure might lead her to better things. Opening a bakery would have a significant cost up front. She hoped marginal fame would help gain investors. She found a job at a bakery in Boston to build up different, more grounded local renown.

 

Regina came home to a whirlwind of not one, but two new jobs.

 

Meanwhile, Emma had been thinking about pursuing Mixed Martial Arts for a few months. It caught her attention when she and some of her fellow soldiers went to a bar one night and a match was on t.v. When Emma told Regina she wanted to try MMA, a week of Regina’s subdued response worried her.

 

She seemed to get past it. Sort of.

 

Now, post-fight, Regina regarded her with the kind of enthusiasm reserved for those waiting to have a root canal.

 

Emma kept opening and closing her left eye, as if that would fix the blurriness. The swelling there needed ice, but first she probably needed a couple of stitches for the cut next to it. A purple bruise curled under her other eye. Two red splotches were on the same cheek. She tasted a faint trace of blood from her split lip.

 

Her friends, Archie, Jefferson, Zelena and Regina were allowed into the locker room. Everyone except Regina gave her quick hugs.

 

Zelena did so with a blatant expression of disgust over Emma’s sweaty, bloody form.

 

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Emma said, swinging her to and fro, just to prolong the grubby contact.

 

Zelena responded by repeating the word “Ew,” a few times. “Stop! Let go of me, you heathen.” She pushed her away and brushed off her clothes.

 

Emma settled onto the long wood bench and took a gulp of water. She turned to Regina, expecting her to be close, only to find her behind the others, hands behind her back.

 

“Hey, I won right?” For Emma, victory made up for an awful lot of aches and pains. “I’m fine. I’ll play piano again and everything.” The euphoria of a good fight blew bubbles in her brain. Regina’s grim features were Emma’s polar opposite.

 

“This was a particularly bad one,” Archie said, a tentative interruption. “I haven’t seen you take that many hits since your early fights.”

 

Emma didn’t doubt him, but cuts and bruises healed. Her muscles were still hot and ready. She could have gone another five rounds easy. Her ego rested on her well-honed body and the complete dedication to her training. She could be the best at this. She’d never believed that about anything.

 

Her good mood remained buoyant. “You know, Arch, now that you mention it, it was kinda rude that she kept moving around when I tried to hit her.”

 

Jefferson summed it up. “Emma, you look like you got into a car accident, left the scene of that accident, crashed your car into a building, then got trampled on by a herd of bulls.”

 

Emma smirked at him, but her attention centered on Regina.

 

“Regina?” Emma held out her hand. “Come on, I’m okay.” Regina moved forward, features blank, her fingers barely touching Emma’s. “Do I not get a hug?”

 

Regina relented, hands falling from her agitated pose and circling Emma. It felt like a reward. She smelled clean and floral and the warm press of Regina against her raised her already high spirits even further.

 

After they parted, Zelena asked. “How do we want to celebrate? Emma, I refuse to go to a pool hall again. Or a place named ‘and grill’.”

 

“You know, other people’s friends, when they win something, let them pick the place.” Emma stroked the small of Regina’s back. Regina’s distance set off warning flares. An internal voice she could barely hear told her that if she stopped touching Regina, something bad might happen. She ignored it as an overreaction. Mostly.

 

“You have won quite a bit,” Zelena said. “I have suffered through sports bar after sports bar and even a bowling alley. I had to wear sunglasses so no one would recognize me.”

 

“People don’t look down on bowling.”

 

“People hardly look up to it. I’ve tried many dating apps. I have yet to see ‘avid bowler’ as a frequently listed skill. Not to mention the time you wanted us all to go to the arcade, which thankfully my sister talked you out of. Somewhere adult this time.”

 

Emma couldn’t stop splitting her attention between the others and the still way-too-silent Regina.

“Tell you what, tonight we’ll do a restaurant. Next time, I’ll leave it up to you.”

 

Zelena pressed her index finger to her chin, eyes gleaming. Emma reconsidered the wisdom of her offer. “Do you promise? Would you dress up?”

 

“As long as I can do my version of it?”

 

Zelena clapped her hands together. “Excellent. I’ll need the particulars of your next fight whenever they are available. Also, if you could try not to get hit in the face quite so many times?”

 

“Right.”

 

“Could I have a moment with Emma?,” Regina asked.

 

Archie glanced from Emma to Regina, eyebrows tightening in concern. “Sure, let’s head outside everyone. We’ll meet you by the entrance.”

 

Emma reached out to ruffle his hair before he fully escaped — just because — still high from winning.

 

Regina drew back a few steps.

 

“Do I look that bad?” Regina didn’t answer, eyes glassy, pulling Emma’s old jacket more snug around her.

 

“You okay?”

 

Regina laughed but it sounded forced. “I am fairly sure that should be my question. Can I ask, how close are you to achieving your goals in MMA? Is there an end point or...”

 

“Well, if my next fight goes well, Grumps says that we’ll enter a pro tournament.” She raised her still wrapped hand in a fist and in slow motion, tapped Regina’s chin. “I like my chances.”

 

Regina stood, a statue of resignation, hands hanging limp at her sides. Emma decided she hated that more than the “at attention” thing. “And then what?”

 

Emma didn’t get it, didn’t understand why Regina sounded both so defeated and stubborn. “I keep fighting till I move up the ranks and maybe get a belt. I don’t have a time frame. I mean, I like it. You like working at that daily morning show, right? We’re both just following what feels like the right thing.”

 

“You went into the army, became a police officer and then this. I, on the other hand, bake. Do you not see a difference?”

 

Emma felt like she’d climbed into another ring. “I don’t actually.”

 

“Do you know that five people have died in mixed martial arts competitions? Not to mention whatever brain damage you are incurring on a regular basis. I am unaware of any such injuries happening making a cake.”

 

Emma took that one on the chin and didn’t try to defend herself. “Regina, what’s going on?”

 

She didn’t like the shadow in Regina’s eyes or the way she retreated as Emma came closer.

 

“When I came home from New York and I went to the interviews my mother set up at the TV station, I promised myself I would never be under her thumb the way I once was. I reminded myself that loving someone gives them a measure of control over you. To remain autonomous, you must be cautious. You cannot allow someone to influence you into doing things you believe are wrong for you.”

 

Emma tried to form a question, but she didn’t know where to start.

 

“I don’t think I can come to your fights anymore, Emma. In fact, I don’t think I can support this insanity any longer.”

 

Emma heard her, of course she did. She just thought maybe she needed to explain things better. If she could. “Look, I know you guys don’t really get it, but I need to do this.”

 

“I disagree that this” — she motioned to Emma’s face — “is in any way necessary. And...” she stood up straighter. “Friends stop one another from making mistakes. They don’t enable it.”

 

“Enable? Like, this is drugs or a drinking problem?”

 

“It’s dangerous. In fact, since high school, you seem to seek out ‘dangerous’.”

 

“It’s not like that.” Emma said firmly, shoulders pressing into the chilled lockers behind her. “I know my mom never thought much of sports. I just want to…”

 

Inside her were crumbling ruins patrolled by unspoken things. At the center of the destruction a terrible thought was buried — the question about what kind of a daughter she was. As long as it remained hidden she could find a way to live her life around it.

 

“I want to make her proud,” Emma said. Regina was the only one she’d say even that much to. She didn’t want to lie or hold back from her, so she gave as much truth as she could right now.

 

“And you think this is the way?” she asked, voice trembling. She gentled, and for the first time in the entire conversation, Emma saw her best friend. “Emma, your mother wanted you to go to college. She wanted you to make a difference. She would have wanted you to be safe.”

 

“I know what she wanted.”

 

“But if that’s what this is about then —”

 

“It’s not that simple.” Regina knew it better than anyone, and this sudden amnesia about the dynamics between Emma and her mother made her want to scream in frustration. She struggled to keep calm. “You know that. Not for me.”

 

Regina hardened and slammed a door shut between them. “I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore.” Regina spoke, practiced and controlled, yielding almost no emotion.

 

Her mother’s death had broken so much inside her. Bright moments and people who loved her fortified her. She could rebuild around the pain. The one who made her trust in that the most stood before her now, threatening to leave her.

 

“This is my choice,” Emma said. “It’s what I want and it’s something I feel I need to do. Shouldn’t that be enough? We’ve always been there for each other. We promised.”

 

Regina shook her head and didn't meet her eyes. “I can’t.”

 

Emma charged forward and lifted her chin. “Why?”

 

Regina’s eyes grew brighter, her heart speaking, making them burn. Emma saw the words, too loud to be ignored, and the fear that kept them lost in silence. Her heart pounded, wondering if Regina would vault past the hesitations and doubts. Her lips parted as if she might.

 

“Everytime you get in that ring.” Regina’s chin trembled. “Every hit you take. You’re asking me to make a sacrifice. It’s not fair.” She lifted her face from Emma’s touch, steel again. “I’m sorry. If you are going to continue, I need to step back.”

 

“What does the hell does that mean?”

 

“We should take some time.”

 

Emma shut down, matching Regina, closed door after closed door. “You’re leaving me.”

 

Regina swallowed but this time, held Emma’s gaze. “If that’s how you wish to see it.”

 

A tearing sensation inside her hurt more than any punch she’d ever gotten. “You know, you’re right, there is a big difference between your baking and my fighting. I don’t have a fucking handrail. I go all in. I don’t settle and cling to things just so I can keep safe.” She turned her back on Regina, not wanting to see the hurt she knew she’d caused. She blindly dialed the locker combination and failed. “You want to step back, then step back,” Emma said. “Get the fuck out of here.”

 

Even then, ordering her out, Emma hoped Regina would just walk it all back. She waited, clinging on to that thought.

 

“I’m sorry,” Regina said.

 

Emma slammed her palm into metal, taking solace in the hollow sound. “Fuck you, Regina.”

 

She heard the soft taps of Regina’s heels as she left.

 

When Emma found the others at the entrance, Regina was gone.

 

#########################################################

 

 

**Apple Valley, Ma**

**The Present**

 

 

_“My understanding of life’s truths is a work in progress, but lies usually allow us to avoid what we don’t want to acknowledge. That doesn’t seem to be what you’re doing now. You’re being exceptionally brave.”_

_Hearing that from Regina, especially from Regina, solidified her thoughts and her peace a little more._

_“I...” Emma paused and drew in a deep breath. “I needed to tell someone. Well, not someone. You.”_

_“Me?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Regina whispered, “Why?”_

_“Why...” Rocks clogged Emma’s throat as she countered Regina’s question with one of her own. “What’s the real reason you couldn’t watch me fight?”_

 

 

The question hung between them, threatening to tip a whole pile of secrets carefully balanced on a fulcrum.

 

Regina’s eyes lifted to the sky, and she shook her head. “We’ve never been ready for that conversation.”

 

Emma supposed she bore the brunt of the blame for that. “My mom, then boot camp,” she said.

 

“Yes, and then New York.”

 

“And then you were in that thing with Camille.” Even now Emma couldn’t say the name without making a face. “You came home and so much was happening for you.”

 

“You were so dedicated to your fighting. I agree, we can attribute some of it to life being a pain in the ass.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But not all of it. I kept believing a magical opportune time would arrive. Everything would be calm and I’d be brave.”

 

“Um, are we still talking about all the reasons we haven’t talked or are we, y’know, talking?”

 

Regina brushed a bang of her hair back, out of her eyes. “Emma, it’s been a very difficult night. For you, especially. This is probably the most legitimate occasion for me to question the timing.”

 

Emma slid her hands in her pockets. “I keep wondering, if you had been in my life after the fight, would I have gotten so stuck? What if being honest is the only way I have a shot at moving forward?”

 

“I want you to have what you need. Whatever that means.”

 

“What if I need to get things out in the open? What if I need you?” Her jaw flexed. “When you walked away from me...”

 

Regina bowed her head. “I know.”

 

“No, I should've chased after you. I should’ve forced you to talk to me. I should have told you the truth. Look, we both know we’re not just friends, right?” Ten years of avoidance, hiding and holding back, shattered. Emma cleared her throat, her breathing uneven and sharp in her lungs. “You and I both feel that way, don’t we?” 

 

Regina rubbed a hand over her face and laughed, surprised and shaky. “I agree that friendship only encompasses a fraction of what I feel. It’s been two years and you can walk up to me in that stupid jacket, and I still— I feel overwhelmed, completely devoid of reason.But, you have no reason to forgive me and I have no right to ask you.”

 

“How you feel about me, that’s part of why you walked away?”

 

“I didn’t know how my heart could cope if you were seriously injured. I didn’t think I was strong enough to face that fear every time you fought.” Regina remained open and vulnerable. Emma remembered how hard that had always been for her. “I did what I always do. I chose the safe path.”

 

“Maybe I did too. In a weird way, it’s easier for me to get my face pounded in than it is to tell someone how I feel.”

 

“Well, I’ve always thought you were quite odd.”

 

They smiled at one another for the first time in a long time.

 

After a moment, Regina grew serious again. “I was foolish. What you add to my life is worth challenging any and all of my fears. Emma, if you are offering to reopen the door on our friendship, that would be more than enough. And if you believe we are better off as friends, we could just leave it at that.”

 

Emma took her hand and drew her closer, one step at a time. “Or not.”

 

Questions and hopes joined the street light on Regina’s face. “Or not.”

 

Emma made a helpless gesture. “You’ve been fucking with my world ever since we met. And you also kept saving me. It kinda felt like too much to ask, for you to be…” The damnable words leapfrogged around Emma’s tongue then disappeared into the night.

 

Regina’s hand brushed down the side of Emma’s jacket sleeve. An experimental gesture, one that made Emma lean a little closer. “I spent so much time being controlled by my mother. She used my love for her against me. I told myself it was a good reason to hold back. All of my plans kept me all but invulnerable. Until you. How am I supposed to manage anything if you shatter my heart?”

 

“What if we risk it? Both of us? I can’t — my life can’t just be about all the things I think I should have done or the stuff I think I fucked up. I want to stop standing still. Without you, I don’t know if I’m brave enough. You make me a better everything. You always have.” She tensed, almost hating herself for asking the next question. “Just, how do we handle the fighting stuff?”

 

“What if…” Her breath caught. “I didn’t believe my heart was big enough to support something that terrifies me. Not even for you. But, what if we take your mother’s advice and challenge our limitations?” Regina took the lapels of her jacket, pulling Emma closer. “What if you need someone to fuck with your world? And I need someone — you — to fuck with mine? I have lived a cautious, safe life.” She took a deep breath and slid a hand up to Emma’s shoulder. “What if I want you to take a sledgehammer to it?

 

Hope sparked inside Emma, an unfamiliar sensation. She nodded slowly.

 

“Okay, so.” she asked for Regina’s patience with her stare and parted from her. She knelt down on the ground and brushed away about ten years of earth, finding the initials they carved long ago. She took a knife from her pocket, glanced up to Regina and motioned for her to bend down.

 

When Regina did, Emma carved a plus sign between their initials: E.N. + R.M.

 

“What do you think?” She held her breath and waited.

 

Regina’s fingers grazed over the back of Emma’s hand as she slid onto one knee. She leaned up to kiss Emma’s forehead, her hair skimming Emma’s face.

 

Another brush of a kiss to Emma’s cheek.

 

And near the corner of her eye.

 

Until finally Regina cupped her face and brushed her lips against Emma’s own. Quiet, tender meetings of their mouths became a language for them, affirmation after affirmation. A swell of heat rose in Emma. Without a real release, every small touch lit a string of firecrackers inside her, popping and flashing sparks.

 

Emma drew back, conscious of the dew in the grass and the sound of a car somewhere in the distance. “We should probably get out of here. Before we get arrested.”

 

“We could go back to my apartment. I’m not suggesting that we have to engage in anything carnal.”

 

“Carnal?” Emma laughed, standing and helping Regina up too.

 

“I blanked on any other description. It’s a perfectly functional word.”

 

“Sure, functional carnality.”

 

She cupped Emma’s face, fingers tracing the plane of her cheek. “I just meant we — we can take this slow.”

 

“Slow carnality?” Regina pushed at her arm and scowled. “I just meant, Jesus, how much slower should we take it?”

 

“I was trying to be thoughtful.”

 

Emma couldn’t hold back an impish grin. “Thoughtful carnality?”

 

“I hate you.”

 

Emma’s mouth captured hers, burning them both. “You wanted me to take a sledgehammer to your world? Maybe this is how, just by being together. Whatever that means tonight.” It shouldn’t have made sense, them speeding forward like this. It just somehow did. “Just...you’re safe, okay? With me, you’re always safe.”

 

“I’ve always known that.”

 

################################

 

It started with talking, mapping out for one another the road of their lives for the last couple of years more fully.

 

They lay in Regina’s bed and tested how close they could get without breaking some invisible line they were still gathering the courage to cross.

 

At one point though, into a drifting, comfortable silence, Regina whispered. “I’m just trying to prepare myself one way or the other, do you think you’ll kiss me again tonight?”

 

Emma tilted her head. “Part of me wants to tease you about your need to plan things.”

 

“Don’t. Please. I have no idea what I’m doing and it’s intimidating enough.”

 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you every day since we met, Regina.” The pad of Emma’s thumb grazed the curve of her lower lip.

 

Regina’s breath caught. “We don’t have to,” she swallowed several times as if having to force herself to speak. “We can wait, or talk more. Or, if you want to continue to discuss what happened at PLB. Whatever you need.”

 

“You know that winter formal you dared me to go to?  When I saw you, I wanted to cross the room and ask you to dance.” Emma’s fingers rested on Regna’s cheek. “I would have fought everyone in that room to be able to do that. You wore this gold dress and you smiled at me. You leveled me.”

 

Regina’s mouth took hers, hungry and blistering. Emma answered in kind, the teenage dreams mingling with her adult passion as she fed on everything Regina offered her. She slid atop Regina, pushing her to her back, panting and seeking the taste of her over and over.

 

 “Emma,” Regina groaned against her mouth.

 

Emma slowed down, tongue skimming and stroking between murmurs. Regina trembled but smiled which lit Emma’s own.

 

“I wanted your letterman jacket immediately,” Regina said, “I wanted to wear it because it was yours. After you gave it to me, at Harvard, I wore it to sleep sometimes.” They broke apart to share the rush of joy, to nuzzle skin as their hands gripped fabric. “And the day I hugged you after you won your first match? I’d never felt need like that, being close to you was addictive. It scared me to death.”

 

“Did you, um, ever think about us like this?”

 

Regina’s eyes glowed, teasing and sensual. “Mhmm. Quite a bit. I thought about seeing you.” Her nails grazed Emma’s ribcage as she found the bottom of her t-shirt, helping Emma peel it off. Her hooded eyes took Emma in, without shyness or trying to hide it. She skimmed several light kisses down Emma’s cheek, adoringly.

 

Emma stilled, too many currents inside her sparking at once. She leaned into Regina from above until she found the ability to move again.

 

“I’ve thought about —” Emma’s fingers unbuttoning Regina’s shirt completed part of the thought for her. Emma joined their mouths again, cupping Regina’s breast over her bra. “— touching you.”

 

“God, Emma. Yes.”

 

That one word, a plea and a demand, shifted tectonic plates inside Emma. The friction built too fast and too hard. She didn’t wait, her mouth sucking hungrily at Regina’s nipple through her bra. Regina, impatient with the limited contact, jerked it from her body and brought Emma’s head back down.

 

Emma recalled, in the vague fog of memories, that some of her earliest fantasies about Regina were about pushing her hand inside her panties. Maybe even being the first to touch her that way. The thought pressed like a brand burning her brain until she couldn’t think about anything else.

 

“I wanted,” Emma growled, “I wanted to be your first.” Her palm pressing between Regina’s legs made Regina gasp.

 

Emma groaned. She could feel the wetness of Regina’s panties. Between her own thighs, a hard contraction of need. “It doesn’t matter, but I wanted to be the first one to see you feel…I wanted to kick Camille’s ass.”

 

Regina caught her face and their eyes met. “You’re the only one who’s ever mattered.”

 

Emma understood the completeness of it, like a vow. They would move worlds for one another. They had. They always would. She pulled Regina closer with one arm while her hand sought more intimate contact. Her hot mouth pulled at Regina’s nipple, deep and slow. Her index finger skimmed Regina’s clit. It throbbed for her, swelling.

 

“Yes?” Emma asked.

 

“Yes!”

 

That cry shuddered through Emma, her restraint crumbling and hunger rising.

 

Emma nipped at the other nipple, lapping her tongue against it, breathing in the apple-ginger body lotion Regina used, the one that had teased her senses for years. “Do you want me?” The circular pressure of Emma’s touch increased, moving faster.

 

“God, so much.”

 

“You wanted me back then?”

 

Regina reached for her, fingers combing through Emma’s hair as her hips tried to keep time with Emma’s fingers. “In perpetuity.”

 

Emma had always loved the way Regina talked. She kissed her way up to Regina’s neck, wanting to be closer, to hear her.

 

Regina spread her legs further apart,  pleading for more, her thighs quivering. “I — I wanted to tell you. Kept waiting.”

 

“I wanted you,” Emma murmured. “Every time you slept next to me. Or smiled.” She kept stroking, directly at Regina’s center, not letting her go, not ever again. “Or made me taste whatever thing you were baking.”

 

Regina’s arm wrapped around her, embracing her hard. A promise even as she rushed toward fulfillment. Sweat rose on their skin and they moved harder against one another. 

 

“More?”

 

“Please. Emma, please.”

 

There. In her fantasies, she’d heard cool, composed Regina dissolving into mindless passion so many times. She thrust faster, as deep as she could. A third finger joined the two already inside Regina’s ready and open body. 

 

She feathered a kiss to the pulse point on Regina’s neck, savoring the rapid beat. She whispered there,  “You see me. You always have. And I see you. I need you, Regina.”

Emma kept her thumb rolling against her clit. She watched the tightening of Regina’s features, how her eyes squeezed shut, a crinkle just above her nose, her lips gaping open in pleasure.

 

So close, Emma thought, wanting to know this side of her as greedily as she wanted to know everything. 

 

Regina fingers pressed into her lower back, crying out. “Waited so long.”

 

‘Me too. Now.”

 

“Oh, god.”

 

“I’m right here. Now.”

 

“Emma,” her name the last sanity before Regina’s need overcame her.

 

“You’re safe,” Emma told her and raised her head to kiss her.

 

#####################################################

 

After, they tangled together, stroking, their lips brushing here and there against naked skin.

 

“You’re sure you’re good if I decide to fight again?”

 

“I don’t know if I can watch, Emma, but I can be there. I will be there. Just one thing? Can you please make a decision? Fight or don’t, but stop letting it hang over you like it is.”

 

Emma moved an arm behind her head and looked up at her. “I lost.”

 

“Yes, you did.”

 

“The person I lost to is still the champ. And even if she wasn’t, maybe I just — maybe I’m not good enough.”

 

“I’m no expert in these things, but you ascended the ranks before; it’s a reasonable assumption you can do so again.”

 

Emma bent and skimmed her cheek against Regina’s. “Very sensible.”

 

“But Emma, your mother would never have agreed that you can only honor her by winning a title. That’s a moment. A very good moment, but still. Believing that there’s only one way to do something doesn’t sound like your mother’s point of view at all.”

 

Emma wondered how Regina saw deep inside her and understood exactly what she needed. “You know, you’re pretty smart. For the record.”

 

“I am aware. For the record.”

 

Emma crooked a finger. “Come here a second.”

 

Regina leaned down and kissed her.

 

“Is it weird that this feels kinda...normal? I mean, not that that’s not amazing. It is, I’m just surprised that it’s kinda easy.” She scratched her head, realizing all the ways her words could be taken the wrong way. “Not, like — we had sex, so we’re both complete sluts now.”

 

Regina pressed a fingertip to her lips. “You remember how you used to tell me talking wasn’t really your thing and that you were better at action? Just kiss me, Emma.”

 

Emma did, squeezing her eyes shut and savoring the slow dance of their tongues, gliding against one another unhurriedly. The need, coiling like a spring, already felt too tight, too many years of secrets and holding back — and she wanted so much that she barely knew where to start.

 

Inside, she thought, wanting to slide deep and hear Regina’s low moan again.

 

Regina’s leg pushed between her thighs. They tumbled over one another once and then again, both trying to control the release of years of fantasies.

 

It almost hurt to go slow, muscles straining too much.

 

In frustration, Regina slid down Emma’s body, shoving her legs apart.

 

“Let me,” she said, husky, and lowered her mouth. Emma forgot what she wanted, which of the hundreds of daydreams she’d been trying to make true. The strokes of Regina’s tongue were light, sprinkling against her, preparing her.

 

Only when Emma’s body rose, seeking more, did her rhythm become faster, whipping at her. Regina slid her hands under her to help her rock up and down.

 

Regina’s voice didn’t stop, sounds of pleasure in the back of her throat. Quiet murmurs of encouragement. “Mhmm,” she sighed as Emma’s body pumped. “That’s my girl.”

 

Emma didn’t even know if she liked being called “girl,” but her need became sharper when Regina said it. “Fuck,” she groaned.

 

It felt like being claimed — Regina declaring to the universe, “Emma is mine”; so rare when the racing world left so many behind.

 

“That’s it. Let me,” Regina said, and made those sounds, those delighted purrs as she fed. Like how she baked, trying ingredients, stirring them then tasting. Humming in delight when she had the mix just right, taking another mouthful to be sure.

 

“Good girl,” Regina said again and watched intently as Emma fisted the sheets, the muscles of her strong body straining, pulled too taut.

 

“Shhh.” Regina slowed, teasing her with nips and hot measured breaths. It confused Emma; she’d been so close to shattering and now, that edge lingered.

 

A soft kiss brushed the apex of her heat. “One day, I’m going to do this for hours. Keep you right here.”

 

Emma couldn’t fight, her strength gone, helpless to Regina’s whims. “Fuck.”

 

“I’d sit in one of my AP classes and my mind would drift to you. I had a fantasy where I got on my knees and helped you prepare for a wrestling match.” The timer ticked down, Regina disciplined about getting Emma to just the right temperature for just the right amount of time.

 

Emma cried out. She needed. She needed with every baking atom in her body.

 

“That’s my girl,” Regina whispered.

 

“I need to cum,” Emma said, fist curled in Regina’s hair.

 

“Yes, sweetheart. Cum for me.”

 

Carefully readied, she arched, a hard wave of heat throbbing between her legs, followed by quieter ripples. “Regina,” she gasped.

 

Soft kisses rained against her thighs in answer. The softness of Regina’s cheek resting against her leg, smiling softly up at her.

 

Later still, they lounged on the couch, both in only shirts and panties, feeding each other ice cream and watching Carol on Netflix.

 

“You realize,” Regina said, eyes bright and superior. “You’re finally going to move in with me. And after an appropriate time, we’ll get married.”

 

“What? We just — I mean — we’re barely — Regina. Just, shouldn’t we give everything a lot of thought before we fully commit to stuff like that?”

 

“Emma, what's my favorite movie?

 

Emma cycled through her memory, responding automatically and fairly close to verbatim. “Trick question. You think it’s an asine question given the number of genres, themes, and performances there are.” Emma realized Regina asked to prove a point and she’d played into it. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

 

“You know me better than anyone ever has or ever will. Whether it's been two years or two hundred. And I know you. I understand you need to do the processing thing you do. My timeline gives you three months.” Regina leaned her head on Emma’s shoulder. “Now, shhh, you know how I am about my ambitions.”

 

Before Emma could protest again, Regina pushed a spoonful of cookies and cream ice cream into her mouth.

 

“Um, it’s...” She craned her neck to check the clock. “Fuck. Almost nine in the morning. I have to go to work soon.”

 

“I have accepted that I am going to be late but, as I intend to resign, I doubt it matters.” Regina glanced at her shyly. “I have the weekend off.”

 

“I need to work today and tomorrow, but I have Sunday and Monday off.”

 

“What if you came over after work tonight and stayed over till Monday.” She smoothed her fingers over the arch of Emma’s shoulder. “You could get some things from home, then, well, we could spend a few days like this.”

 

Emma wanted to spend months like this. Not just the sex, but together. Just the two of them laughing over stupid things, or touching, or whispering secrets. Happiness, light and pure, became part of the oxygen she breathed.

 

“I could do that,” she said softly, then cleared her throat. “And don’t look at me all smug. That doesn’t mean your greater plans for us are happening.”

 

Regina schooled her features. “Nonetheless, I think I will clear out some space for you.” She drew in a deep breath and Emma could tell her thoughts had shifted. “Monday will be quite the day. I will talk to my mother first, then my boss and hand in the letter.”

 

“You know, you’ve been through this shit with your mom before.”

 

Regina seemed bolstered by that. “Yes, I have. I’ll offer to send her a cake this time. And, I think I should let her know that I am going to be dating someone she lovingly refers to as ‘that lesbian wrestler’.”

 

“Do you want me to come with you to the station? Like, in the car or something? And you’ve got the bank managers, right? I could be there for that too. If you want.”

 

“Having you with me is exactly what I want.”

 

Emma nestled into the warmth of her body for a little longer. “Right.”

 

They finally left the house for something besides work on Sunday afternoon. They went to lunch and, as they crossed from a parking lot to the restaurant, she took Regina’s hand.

 

Her fingers brushed Regina’s at first. She caught her breath, and her heart took a break from beating until Regina answered in kind. They’d been having sex for days, and yet somehow, that moment seemed almost as intimate and important.

 

On Monday, when Emma went with her to meet with bank managers about a business loan, they held hands again.

 

Dammit, Emma realized, Regina was probably right about the marriage thing.

 

Later, they curled around one another in bed, close as they could. Emma whispered to her when they were both almost asleep as if her words were too much for the daytime or to be spoken too loudly. “I just feel a little better about a lot of stuff right now. Because of that thing I told you about Mom, and you make me feel brave.” She ran her fingers through Regina’s hair. “This is good. This is really good.”

 

The freedom of being in love still felt very new, like they were testing that they’d really escaped the chains holding them back. Regina’s smile against her neck, the soft kiss against her pulse point, made the admission worth it.

 

It took her a week to decide what to do next, how to keep her promise to Regina not to let the would she fight or not? question keep hovering over her. Grumpy’s two-week clock also ticked away, which added to the pressure. She didn’t want to use up his last bit of patience and lose him as a manager.

 

She only had one idea. She called the Flames and asked them to come with her, then she sat down at Regina’s dining table and started to write.


	9. Amen and Hallelujah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi All,
> 
> As we come to the end of this flight, just a few things:
> 
> 1\. My mom passed away in 2009. Afterward, a lot of feelings including guilt stayed with me for a long time. It's gotten better. However, as I wrote this, I found more peace than I once had. My hope is that maybe for those of you who have lost someone, I can give you a little of the same. Even if just briefly. I think it's all about the person left behind believing that the person who is gone knows they were truly loved and valued. At least that was true for me. Maybe, like Emma, I just needed to find the words. Lastly, I task all of you with sharing a hug, a laugh or cookie with someone important in your life sometime soon.
> 
> 2\. Every story I ever write will seek to add hope to those that read it. I don't fool myself into thinking that what I write can change the world. However, I believe that it might make someone take a deep breath, or remember some section weeks from now and smile. Sometimes a little hope is a very powerful thing. One of the many reasons why I want to be published has to do with that same desire. If you're interested in coming with me on that journey (and I hope you are) find me on Twitter or Tumbler and say hi or follow me. It's encouraging and the support means a lot. Mariacomet there, same as here.
> 
> Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me. I hope you all have laughed, sighed happily and maybe gotten teary in a good way while reading this story. And now, back to Garden of Heroes.
> 
> Till next time, this is your captain speaking.

**Apple Valley, Ma**

**The Present**

 

 

Her mother’s grave was marked by a shiny gray stone that lay flat on the ground, with an urn at the top for flowers. Her mother’s name was in etched in gold letters, with the year she was born and the year she died. Janice Hopper had asked Emma if she wanted it to say more. Emma, always lacking words, didn’t know what else to add.

 

The others formed a half circle near her with Regina breaking ranks to stand beside her.

 

“Do you want to be alone?” she asked.

 

Emma didn’t. She dug a paper from her pocket, unfolded it and held it up. It shook a little, her hand unsteady as she read.

 

“Mom,” she said, “there was all this stuff we had a hard time understanding about each other. You wanted all these things for me that I don’t think would have made me happy. But, you wanted them because you hoped so much for my happiness. You didn’t always know what to do with me. You did the best you knew how. You weren’t perfect, but I never doubted that you loved me. Not ever.”

 

Every word peeled back layers of pain. For once she wanted to keep digging, to excavate as much of it as she could. Regina’s hand squeezed hers, sharing strength. “Just so you know, if I said ‘I love you’ every hour for the rest of my life, it wouldn’t be enough. Or if I wrote ‘thank you’ ten thousand times.”

 

She didn’t know if she could carve all the words she wanted to say from herself with any skill. So for the next part, she’d leaned on what she thought her mother would always understand. “Edgar Allan Poe said, ‘We loved with a love that was more than love’. I hope that’s true. I want it to be because if it is, maybe when people die, they know how much they mean to those they left behind and nothing is ever really left unsaid.”

 

She wiped at her eyes, smudging the tears on her cheeks. “I’ve been trying to make up for what I didn’t say and do for a long time. I hope it’s okay with you if I stop doing that. I need to carry your flame better but not by making promises or feeling guilty. I think that’s the opposite of what you’d want. Instead, I want to try and honor you.”

 

She drew in air. The peace and certainty she usually only found through moving nested in her heart. “I want to give, to open up to those around me, and be a good friend. I want to stop being too afraid to give all of my heart. Because I hold back, Mom. I want to stop tiptoeing around in my own life and start running hard. I want to fight. Win or lose.”

 

She laughed, feeling sheepish, and lowered the paper in her hand. “That’s the end of what I wrote. I guess I didn’t really give it an ending. Um, Regina and I are dating by the way. I’m in love with her. Have been for a stupidly long time. So, just, FYI on that.”

 

Emma wondered if behind her the Flames were holding their breath in shock or if they shared knowing looks.

 

Regina laughed quietly. “Hi, Mrs. Nolan. I love her too. FYI.”

 

“And that’s the first time we’ve told each other that because we’re incapable of doing things the normal way. Ah, somehow I don’t think you’re surprised. And the Flames, we’re all still here. We’re still together.” Hands touched her back, all of them silently testifying to the bond between them. “Thank you for them. For making sure we have each other.”

 

She bent down till she could kiss the place above her mother’s name. “I love you, Mom.” She left that there, letting it spread between her and the sky. She lay her hand atop the marker. “I don’t know that I’ll come back here much cause I — I think maybe you’re with me.” She squeezed the cool stone. “I hope I make you proud.”

 

She sorted through herself, and couldn’t find anything else she wanted to say. The words so often didn’t come when she needed them to, but today they paced themselves, ran a good race and rested afterwards.

 

She stood and took Regina’s fingers with her own. Regina watched her, checking on her as always and making sure she seemed okay. Emma nodded to her.

 

They walked down the hill from the gravesite to a sidewalk that led to the parking lot. Jefferson waited till they could see the car before grabbing her in a headlock. “You secret-keeping romantic,” he said.

 

Zelena, who likewise had held back as long as she could said, “About time.” She pointed at her sister and mouthed, “Details, later.”

 

Archie surveyed them all with a large, proud grin on his face. When Jefferson released Emma, he said. “Aren’t you going to show them, Jefferson?”

 

“Oh,” Jefferson rubbed at his chin with the back of his hand. “Now? I mean, this is Emma’s thing. I didn’t want to intrude or anything else with rude in it.”

 

“I think it’s okay,” Archie said.

 

Emma turned to him. “What’s up?”

 

Jefferson pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “I improved it. I never liked your mom not being in it. I know she said this was our group but...she’s part of it. She always was.”

 

She expected a small change, but Jefferson had reimagined it entirely. A glass heart lay at the center now, with red oil inside it that fueled a burning wick atop it. Sparks fell from the wick toward the five candles surrounding the base of the heart.

 

Emma stared at it, struggling to loosen the lump in her throat so she could speak. “It’s perfect. You know,” she said with a watery smile. “We always talked about getting matching tattoos, and you guys do owe us a dare.”

 

“Wait, there’s an order to these things,” Zelena objected. “It needs to be an official meeting, you need to present art.”

 

“As president of Arts into Action, I’ll allow it just this once,” Regina said. “Especially given how you all tricked us into talking.”

 

“Tyrant,” Zelena said, winking.

 

Archie adjusted his glasses. “Well, it did work. But yes, we probably owe you one. I know nothing about tattoo parlors. Should we check Yelp or...?”

 

“That is the nerdiest question you have ever asked,” Jefferson said, but patted his back.

 

When they reached their cars, Archie took Emma’s arm. “You’re okay?”

 

“I’m...home.”

 

Archie reached up and ruffled her hair.

 

 

######################################

 

**Apple Valley, Ma**

**3 months later**

 

 

They all agreed to get the tattoos somewhere on their hands, a place they couldn’t ignore, overlook or forget. They met weekly again.

 

With some chagrin, Jefferson told them that the tattoo place, impressed with his design for the Flames, suggested he consider becoming a tattoo artist. They offered him a trial apprenticeship, to give him time to decide if he might want to pursue it. His attempt to stifle his giddiness when he told them had them nudging each other.

 

Emma supposed dreams sometimes manifested themselves in weird ways.

 

Regina met with and won over two private investors. She picked out a space and the Flames invested serious sweat equity in it, trying to help her save money getting set up. It pissed off her mom, but then so did she and Emma moving in together. They both suspected Regina’s mom wouldn’t be talking to her daughter for awhile.

 

Emma settled into a training routine with her manager. He let her have exactly three months before booking her for a fight so she’d “cut the bullshit once and for all”.

 

She tried to keep her energy up and her nerves controlled as she paced in the locker room. Regina watched for a bit then took her hands to stop her.

 

Regina still didn’t think she could watch the actual fight, so they reached a compromise. She would wait for her here; Emma just needed her.

 

“Before you go, I was going to give you something but I didn’t think you could wear it in the ring. It’s something small. Well, technically I bought two. I thought we needed a more advanced way to pass notes.” Regina backed away, went to her purse on the bench and withdrew a red, velvet box. Inside was a small silver locket and chain. “I thought we could occasionally leave one another messages. Do you want to see today’s?”

 

Regina pressed a tiny button and it clicked, revealing a small folded paper no larger than a dime. The words written there were _I believe in you_.

 

Emma placed a hand on her chest and pushed forward till Regina’s back pressed against a set of lockers. She branded Regina’s mouth with hers, and it made Emma forget every fear she had. Emma’s gloved hand coiled in her hair, seeking more fearlessness.

 

“Jesus, will you two knock it off?” Grumpy chomped on his unlit cigar. “There aren’t any firehoses nearby and Emma has to go.”

 

“They making out again?” Jefferson called from outside.

 

“Of course they are,” Zelena’s voice answered. “I swear to god, Emma’s lucky she can’t get Regina pregnant.” Regina covered her face, which didn’t hide her flushed cheeks.

 

“Guys, Emma’s already nervous and has enough pressure.”

 

Emma swore Archie sounded more nervous than she was.

 

“You will give me your solemn oath that you will do your best to keep safe.”

 

Emma met her eyes and crossed her heart. Together, they walked to the doorway.

 

Regina pecked her cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

 

“Hey Regina? I love you.”

 

Regina’s eyes traveled over her face, twinkling. “Right.”

 

“Okay, that word really is annoying.”

 

“See? It really is.”

 

Emma laughed, brushed their mouths together one more time as Grumpy complained, then headed into the hallway.

 

She fist bumped her each of her friends’ tattooed hands.

 

She connected with Jefferson’s hand last and whispered, “So, I fight, and you tell him. That’s the dare, right?”

 

He glanced at Archie to make sure he hadn't overheard and gave the weariest and most reluctant of nods.

 

“Aces,” he said with no enthusiasm at all.

 

Emma pointed at him. “No forfeiting this time.”

 

She moved to stand beside her manager in front of the closed double doors. She could hear the crowd inside the arena milling around and talking, a throng of noise.

 

“Who’s the champ?” Grumpy asked her, beginning their usual psyching up litany.

 

“I’m the champ.”

 

“Who’s the champ?”

 

“I’m the champ,” she said, assertive now.

 

“Well then, you show them.” Outside the din of sound dropped in volume. “You ready for this, kid?”

 

Emma rolled her neck and banged her gloves together. “I’m ready.”

 

Familiar words drifted into her mind, and she smiled as she heard, _Amen and hallelujah._

 

The doors opened and her music started.

 


End file.
